


The Simple Things

by disturbedbydesign



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:40:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 86,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disturbedbydesign/pseuds/disturbedbydesign
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating Jeremy before he was famous was all good. Then Dahmer happened, and things would never be the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You had only been in L.A. for a few months when you met him. You came to California with stars in your eyes, but you ended up just another aspiring actress slinging drinks at a dive bar in North Hollywood. You were a dime a dozen, a cliché, a joke your parents were embarrassed to tell their friends. Go to law school, they said. Give up this schoolgirl’s dream. You’ll never make it out there. And as you poured another cheap whiskey for some shitfaced asshole in the bar, you started to think that maybe they were right. And the worst part – even worse than the endless cycle of auditions and rejections – was the knowledge that you were a disappointment. You could handle failure. You had a thick skin and a resilient spirit. But it was the disappointment that cut you deep and kept you up at night. It was the disappointment that made you want to cut your losses and walk away.

But the night he walked in everything changed – not immediately, of course, but from the moment you first laid eyes on him there was something about him you couldn’t shake. He would come in every other night or so, clothes covered in dust and paint and dirt and who knew what else. He’d stay for a few rounds of cheap beer, spend about ten minutes in the bathroom, and then take off. He was always kind to you, always had a smile on his face, but he didn’t say much. He was most often alone, but sometimes he would come in with another guy in a similarly disheveled state. You didn’t ask questions, just made assumptions. He was muscular and looked strong as an ox, and he was tan – not California surfer boy tan but the kind of tan that a man gets working all day with the sun beating down on his back. And he obviously worked with his hands. They were always busted up and bloodied and looked like they’d seen better days, but you were always drawn to them when he’d slide the cash across the bar. He had thick fingers and knobby knuckles and looked like he had a mean grip. Some nights you had to stop yourself from thinking about all the things those hands were capable of. Some nights you couldn’t help yourself.

It was on one of those nights that he finally spoke to you – for real, not just pleasantries and a drink order. The bar was practically empty and it was near closing time. He’d usually be gone by then, but that night he stayed, lingering over his beer at the end of the bar, looking pensive and almost sad. You always tried to avoid engaging in conversation with customers. You’d learned that your first week on the job. In your hometown, people were kind and friendly. They would make conversation for conversation’s sake – no ulterior motives, no hidden desires. But L.A. was a different story. The first (and last) guy you made nice with at the bar ended up getting handsy with you as the night wore on and had to get bounced, and you learned the hard way that men in L.A. were after one thing – and it wasn’t stimulating conversation.

But he seemed different somehow and that night you broke the rule you’d set for yourself. You didn’t know a thing about him – not even his name since he always paid in cash – but you just felt it. Your intuition had steered you wrong in the past, but this time you thought maybe your subconscious would get it right. You walked over to the dark corner of the bar and started to wipe down the counter, hoping he’d make the first move so you didn’t have to. He looked up at you and smiled but didn’t say a word and you knew you’d have to speak first. You were nervous but well versed in rejection. Your heart was beating fast and you felt your skin flush, but even though your body was screaming no, your mind was determined.

_Fuck it. What’s the worst that could happen?_

You started small – asked if he’d like another beer, on you. He looked puzzled, and then he spoke.

“It’s just about closing time, no? Shouldn’t you be kicking my ass out of here about now?”

You smiled as you continued cleaning around him.

“I should be, but I’m not going to. Besides, you look like you could use another, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

He was slumped over the bar, his biceps dwarfing the beer bottle in front of him, and he chuckled low before responding.

“I don’t mind. And you’re right. It’s been a shit day.”

You grabbed him another beer and one for yourself and walked back over to him.

“Thanks,” he said. “But I’ll pay for it.”

“No,” you said. “You won’t. It’s about time I bought you a beer. You’re one of the only regulars in here I don’t want to punch in the face on a nightly basis.”

He laughed heartily at that and you felt butterflies. You were making progress.

“Well, I appreciate that,” he said, and you clinked bottles before each taking a deep swig.

“You know,” he said, “it just occurred to me that I know your name but I’ve never properly introduced myself. I’m Jeremy.”

Jeremy. You liked the sound of that. So many people had pretentious, stupid, WASPy names in this town. You wondered for a moment how he knew your name when you’d never really talked to him, but you realized it must just be from people constantly screaming it at you at the bar – either your coworkers trying to get you to do their work for them or regular customers drunkenly hitting on you while demanding drinks. But the fact that he’d paid attention and remembered made you smile inside.

“Nice to properly meet you, Jeremy.” You steeled yourself up. It was now or never. “So, why such a shit day?”

He heaved a sigh and for a moment you wondered if you’d overstepped, but he answered you after a few moments of quiet contemplation. You noticed the way his brow crinkled when he was thinking, deep lines running across his forehead that spoke of deep thoughts.

“I fucked up at work today. Something big. I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“What do you do for work?” you asked.

He hesitated before he answered.

“Well, I do a lot of things, but lately it’s mostly just house renovations.”

Your assumptions weren’t that far off. He did work with his hands. You liked that.

“So what happened?” you asked. “And feel free to tell me to fuck off if you don’t want to talk about it.”

He laughed. “No, no. It’s fine. I went through a wall I shouldn’t have. I can fix it but it’s going to cost me and set us back and I just feel like an ass. I don’t usually make mistakes like that. I’ve been doing this long enough not to pull something so fucking amateur.”

“Hey, we all have off days. At least it’s fixable, right?”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. My mind was somewhere else,” he said, and at that moment it looked like his mind was wandering back to wherever it had been, but he snapped back to finish. “I was distracted and I fucked up. I guess I’m just disappointed in myself, that’s all.”

Disappointment was something with which you were painfully familiar and you gave him advice that you yourself had never been able to follow.

“Don’t be too hard on yourself. I’m sure you are great at what you do.”

He looked up at you as if seeing you for the first time, and it was then that you really noticed his eyes. They were soulful and a stormy shade of blue, the likes of which you’d never seen before. You were hooked then. There was no turning back.

You ended up staying at the bar way past close, just talking. He told you all about flipping houses and the other odd jobs he did. When he told you he sometimes worked as a makeup artist, you were that much more intrigued by him. Here he was, one of the manliest men you’d ever seen, and he knew how to do makeup. Hell, he probably knew more than you did about makeup. The more he talked, the more multifaceted you found him to be, and the more undeniably attracted to him you became. You could safely say you’d never met a man like him before, and although you were just scratching the surface, you could tell that he was a good man, an honest man, which is why you felt awful about lying to him.

You were truthful about most things, but you lied about being an actress – or rather, being a wannabe actress. It was a lie by omission, really, but a lie nonetheless. You were embarrassed. You didn’t want to come off like every other girl in Hollywood. You wanted him to think you were something special, someone worth keeping around, which is why you didn’t give him your number. Would you have liked if he asked for it? Sure. Did you think at one point that he would? Definitely. But he didn’t, and though you found it odd after such a long conversation, you figured he must have his reasons. Still, it stung a bit – the disappointment. As you drove home that night you knew you wouldn’t sleep well, if at all. You’d be thinking about him, mulling over every detail of what you’d said, wondering what exactly it was that put him off, that made him uninterested in you. You knew you’d see him again at the bar, of course. He’d said that much, but you wanted more. You didn’t want to be his bartender. You wanted to be something so much more than that.

Despite his promise he’d see you soon, you didn’t see him at the bar for two weeks. For as long as he’d been coming there, he’d never gone so long without popping in. You took it as a sign of rejection – you’d gotten too close that night, he’d been upset and vulnerable and possibly drunk and regretted telling you so much about himself and now he’d chosen one of the other shitty watering holes in the neighborhood as his bar of choice. You tried to shake it off – it’s not like you had all that much invested in the relationship. Hell, there was no relationship to speak of. But still, it hurt. It hurt more than you wanted it to. It hurt more than you ever thought it could. You’d just about finished licking your wounds when he came back.

It was late, almost closing time again, and the bar was empty when he walked in. He stared directly at you from the moment he walked in the door and sat down on the stool facing you.

“Hey,” he said. “You got a minute?”

You looked at him and he was wearing a serious expression. His brow was furrowed in that way again and he looked like he was bearing the weight of the world on his broad, muscled shoulders.

“Sure,” you said. You kept your tone cheery, but on the inside your emotions were all over the map. “Beer?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “That’s not why I’m here.”

You looked at him, puzzled, and set down the glass you’d been cleaning.

“What’s up?”

“I feel bad,” he said. “Real bad.”

“What for?” you asked. You hoped you knew the answer.

“I haven’t come around in a while,” he said. “I wanted to, I just…”

He trailed off and you jumped in to save him.

“That’s OK. I figured you were busy with work given that whole mess you told me about.”

“I was. I mean, I am,” he said. He was fumbling with his words and if you hadn’t been so anxious you would have thought it was adorable. “But that’s not it.”

You could tell he was holding something back and you wanted to know what it was. You needed to know, because you couldn’t keep waiting and wondering. It was time to cut through the bullshit, for better or worse.

“So what is it, then? Just tell me. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have something to say.”

He looked at you with those eyes of his. He looked scared, sad, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. Your heart started beating double time but you kept it together. You needed him to keep going. You needed answers. “I’ve been wanting to see you again, to talk to you again. I haven’t talked to a woman like that in I can’t even remember how long.”

He ran his hand through his hair and looked down. You knew then that he was embarrassed about something and you started to feel bad for thinking the worst of him.

“My situation is complicated right now,” he continued. “I really wanted to get your number that night. I want to take you out. I want to get to know you better. But I can’t.”

Your heart sank. He had a girlfriend. You just knew it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and just went for it.

“Are you seeing someone?”

He looked up at you and started to laugh and shake his head.

“No,” he said. “I am most definitely not seeing anyone. I’m not really in a position to be dating right now.”

You were done with the vague statements and ambiguity.

“Why? What is it you’re not telling me?”

He hesitated, taken back a bit by your directness, but he finally spoke.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes, Jeremy, I really want to know.”

“I was embarrassed,” he said. “I still am. I wanted to ask for your number but there’s no fucking point because I don’t even have a phone right now to call you on. I don’t have a home to take you to. I’m basically squatting in the house I’m working on. I’ve got no electricity, no water, nothing. I’m broke until this job is done. I live on fast food and cheap beer and I brush my teeth and wash up in the goddamn bathroom of this bar or fucking Starbucks or wherever. So tell me, am I really the kind of person you want to give your number to?”

You were floored by the depth and intensity of his honesty. His voice was raw emotion as he spilled his secret to you and you thought at that moment you might love him.

“Yes,” you said. “You are exactly the kind of person I want to give my number to.”

“Why?” he asked. “I can’t take you on a real date. I can’t even invite you over to my place. I have nothing to offer you except a dirty mattress and maybe a rat or two thrown in.”

It was your turn to laugh now.

“You,” you said, “have more to offer than anyone I’ve met in this town. You’re a real person. Everyone here is fake as fuck, but not you. If I wanted to go out on fancy dates and all that bullshit, there are a million guys in this town that would jump at the chance to show off how much money they can throw around. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” he asked. You could tell he genuinely wanted to know.

“Something real,” you said. “Someone who gives a shit about me and isn’t just trying to flash their money around to get in my pants. I want a good, honest man. Is that what you are?”

“I like to think, so, yeah.”

“Well then there you go.”

He smiled and looked relieved, happy even. The tension he’d been holding in his shoulders was gone and he seemed at ease, even more so than he’d been the first night you talked.

“So what now?” he asked.

“Well,” you said. “Tomorrow’s my night off. How about you come over to my place and I cook you a nice dinner. Sounds like you could use a proper meal, and I’m told I’m a decent cook.”

You smiled, waiting and hoping he would take you up on the offer. You knew he was still embarrassed, that he thought a first date should be on the man, not the woman, but you hoped he’d get the fuck over it and say yes.

And he did.


	2. Chapter 2

You woke up the morning of your date with Jeremy dreading the day ahead of you. Not the date part – you loved to cook and you were giddy with the anticipation of seeing him. It was the thought of cleaning that made you want to go back to bed and not wake up. Your place was always kind of a disaster but you’d been especially negligent lately and it had turned from messy into a complete shithole. You doubted he would care given his circumstances, but you needed to clean anyway and this was as good an excuse as any. You spent the morning grocery shopping and picking up cleaning supplies. You’d decided on steaks for dinner. He seemed like a meat and potatoes kind of guy, and who doesn’t like a good steak? If he didn’t, he wasn’t the man for you anyway. Best to find that out now.

After hours of scrubbing and vacuuming and dusting and tidying, your place was finally fit for company. The excruciating grunt work was over and you’d reached the point in the day reserved for nervous excitement. Jeremy would be there in just about three hours and you were an absolute wreck from cleaning – near as filthy as he usually was when he came into the bar after a hard day at work. You showered and shaved – not that you had any intention of sleeping with him on the first date, but first date protocol dictates that body hair be groomed appropriately. You hadn’t been on a date in a while, but you remembered that much. You spent more than half an hour standing in front of your closet staring, trying to pick out the perfect thing to wear – something appropriate for a casual first date, sexy but not too sexy. You didn’t want to send the wrong message, especially since the date would be taking place about thirty feet from your bed. You’d changed the sheets, though, just in case.

You ultimately decided on a pair of well-worn jeans that hugged your curves in all the right places and a tank top that was fitted at the top and flowy at the bottom. Its color complimented your eyes and skin tone nicely, and it was flirty and just a bit sexy. It was low cut, but not too low, and with the right bra it made your tits look phenomenal. The merchandise wasn’t for sale that night, but you’d certainly let him window shop. You knew he didn’t give a fuck about clothes and you didn’t either, not really. Where most women in L.A. preferred the shops on Rodeo Drive, you frequented the vintage shops where you could find perfectly worn concert t-shirts from the 80s. If you had it your way, you’d be wearing a Slayer shirt and your black Converse, but you figured you had to show a little bit of effort. You thought you’d managed to pull off a look that screamed low maintenance and minimal effort required. You figured that’s what he liked.

Shoes were a no-brainer: ballet flats. You’d be running around cooking and who the fuck wears heels in their own house anyway? You would have gone for flip-flops but the combination of working a job where you were standing all day and having no time for a pedicure made your feet unfit for public consumption. With the outfit all set, it was time for hair and makeup. You had been blessed with easy hair. With a towel dry, some time to air out, and minimal product, it fell in long, loose waves down your back. You always had it up in a ponytail or a messy bun at work and you wanted him to see it down – and if you ended up in a position where he wanted to run his hands through it while he kissed you with those perfect lips of his, you wouldn’t complain. You knew what he liked when it came to makeup – he’d told you as much. “Brows, lashes, lips,” he’d said. “Frame the face.” Luckily that was your usual routine, but it was nice to know that he appreciated women who didn’t feel the need to wear a pound and a half of makeup. You’d always favored the natural look, plus it took about 5 minutes start to finish. Everybody wins.

One last look in the mirror and you were satisfied with the outcome. Completely put together at last, you started the prep for dinner. Steaks needed to be marinated. Potatoes needed to be chopped and boiled before mashing. Asparagus needed to be rinsed and trimmed. Garlic needed to be minced. Things were going along well and everything was in its right place when you realized you’d forgotten to buy beer. You weren’t surprised you’d fucked something up. Things had been going too well. But this was a complication that had the potential for disaster. You couldn’t just shut it all down and leave to go get it because that would fuck up the progress on the potatoes and you weren’t about to risk burning the place down by running out to the store with the pot still boiling. You couldn’t call him and ask him to pick it up because he had no phone. Your only real option was to wait for him to get there and then ask him to go, which was awkward enough in and of itself, but then there was the money issue.

You would obviously offer him the money for it, but would that make him feel even more awkward and embarrassed than you knew he already did? Would he decline the money out of some sense of masculine pride and pay for it even though he was broke? You continued cooking, turning the possibilities over and over in your head as you mashed the potatoes and added your mom’s special ingredients for the best goddamn blue cheese mash on the planet. By the time the potatoes were ready, the steaks were done marinating, and the asparagus was waiting to be roasted, you were thoroughly fucking freaked out and pacing the kitchen. That, of course, is when the doorbell rang.

You gave yourself a once over and realized you had started sweating. You frantically wiped yourself down with a kitchen towel and snatched the vial of perfume from your purse, spraying a cloud and walking through it to mask any evidence of anxiety that may have leaked out of your pores. You hadn’t made a decision on the beer when you reached the door. You were winging it at this point and decided to focus on acting like a normal human being instead of worrying about alcohol. When you opened the door to greet him, he stood there smiling with a six-pack in his hand.

“I come bearing gifts,” he said.

It was something so simple and he had no idea, but it was the best fucking gift he could have given you.

“Perfect,” you said. “Come on in.”

You took the six-pack from his hand and put it in the fridge. It was almost cold already but could use another few minutes to chill, although you would have liked nothing more than to crack into a beer because your nerves were frazzled as all hell and you needed to take the edge off. You had never been nervous about your cooking until that very moment. You realized that his opinion meant more to you than maybe it should have at that point, but it was what it was.

“Those are some fine lookin’ steaks you’ve got there. What’s the marinade? Chimichurri?”

“Good guess,” you said.

You were impressed. Again. He knew his food, too, despite the fact he’d been living on McDonald’s or whatever other cheap dollar menu shit he could find. Was there anything this man didn’t know how to do? You got even more nervous then. You pictured yourself burning the steaks to hockey pucks and bursting into tears. You’d never burned a steak in your life and you could pan-sear that shit to perfection with your eyes closed, yet for some reason you were filled with doubt and dread about the evening’s culinary performance. He made you nervous. Before, it had been the good kind of nervous. Now you just kind of wanted to throw up. You forced yourself to snap out of it. You’d never in your life fallen to pieces over a man like this. No matter how strong your feelings for him, you weren’t about to let it turn you into a complete mess.

_Get your shit together. You’re better than this._

“Did you make mashed potatoes from scratch?”

“Goddamn right I did,” you said. Your confidence was back, and fuck if it wasn’t going to stay there. “They’re blue cheese mashed – my mom’s recipe. They’ve been known to make grown men weep tears of joy.”

“Oh have they, now?” he said. He was smiling playfully at you and the way it made his face light up made you feel one thousand times better than you had just moments before. “Well, I’ll try to keep it together.”

“We’ll see, tough guy. We’ll see.”

You took his coat – leather – and went to hang it in the closet, and when you were just out of view you indulged yourself in the urge to bury your face in it and take a whiff. It was heaven – the familiar smell of well-worn hide mixed with his own scent, which was musky and manly and tinged with sweat and cigarettes. You’d never been close enough to him to fully appreciate it. You hoped tonight you’d be able to rectify that. When you returned to the kitchen he was leaning on the counter, arms half bare in his t-shirt and looking absolutely mouthwatering. You’d never seen arms like his before. They were ripped and veiny and looked like they could lift a fucking Mack truck. You wanted more than anything to run your hands over them and squeeze, to feel just how rock-hard that muscle was under his tanned skin. You stopped yourself from thinking about it. You needed to finish dinner.

“Can I help with anything?” he asked.

“Nope, just make yourself comfortable. Grab a beer if you want. They should be cold enough by now.”

He did, and got one for you without asking. Fucking mind reader, this guy was. He twisted off the caps one by one and snapped them across the room. They sailed into the garbage can without even hitting the rim.

“You impressed yet?” he asked. He had one eyebrow raised and it brought out those crinkles in his forehead you’d come to love so much. He almost looked like a puppy, eager to please his master. You’d never seen anything so precious.

“Very,” you said, and you smiled.

He leaned against the kitchen island, sipping his beer, and asked about your day. It was such a simple question but it made you happy. It was the kind of question a husband asks a wife when they’re both finally home from a long day’s work. You suddenly felt very domestic, cooking for him, telling him about the mundane details of your day off. And you could tell he didn’t ask it to fill the air with something; he asked because he was genuinely interested. When you were pan-searing the steaks on the stovetop and your back was to him, you grinned like an idiot to get it out of your system.

“Come on,” he said, “at least let me set the table. I feel fucking useless over here.”

“If you insist,” you said, and directed him to the plates and cutlery.

You were hand testing the steaks to make sure they were done when you saw him on the periphery, reaching up to grab the plates from the cabinet. His t-shirt rose up slightly in the back, revealing two little dimples just above the line of his jeans. You got lost in him for a moment too long, forgetting what you were doing, and burned your finger on the steak still sizzling in the pan. The pain was the only thing that could drag your eyes away from him.

“FUCK.”

You shouted, louder than you should have, and stuck your forefinger in your mouth to the first knuckle. He quickly put the plates down and hurried to your side.

“Did you burn yourself?” He rushed to the sink and ran the cold water. “Give it here.”

He grabbed your wrist gently and guided your finger towards the running water. His hands were rough on your smooth skin and the sensation of his touch almost masked the pain throbbing in your fingertip.

“Better?” he asked.

You smiled at him. He was still holding your wrist though he didn’t have to be.

“I’ll live,” you said. “Steaks are done. Can you do me a favor and take the asparagus out of the oven?”

“I’ll do you one better,” he said. “Why don’t you sit down while I set the table and make up the plates. You’ve done enough for one day, I think.”

“I’m fine, really. I just need a minute.”

“I’m sorry but I’m going to have to insist. Go sit your ass down. You’re off-duty.”

He grabbed you a fresh beer and popped it, placing it in your burned hand.

“Here,” he said, “a cold beer feels great on a burn.”

He was right. You started to think that maybe he was always right. He had that quality about him – a wisdom beyond his years, an old soul in a young man’s body. You sat watching him move effortlessly through your kitchen, fixing the plates up just right, and when he brought dinner to the table you noticed the way the tendons flexed in his forearm as he bore the weight of each plate. He placed a dish in front of you and you thanked him.

“No,” he said. “Thank you. This smells fucking amazing.”

He sat opposite you and smiled as he raised his beer.

“To a proper meal,” he said, and touched his bottle to yours.

He took his first bite of steak with a bit of potatoes and when it passed his lips he made a sound the likes of which you’d only ever heard during sex. He spoke through a mouthful of food.

“This is fucking incredible,” he said. He finished chewing and swallowed, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I’m sorry, that was rude. My mother did teach me never to talk with my mouth full.”

“I don’t mind,” you said. “I’m just glad you like it.”

“I love it,” he said. “And I can see how these potatoes have brought lesser men to their knees. Please forgive me if I don’t speak until every scrap of food on this plate is in my stomach.”

He smiled at you and dug back in, inhaling his food like a wild animal, and you realized he probably hadn’t eaten this much in one sitting in a long time. You let him eat in peace and you did the same. The silence was tranquil, not oppressive as it sometimes can be, and you felt strangely at peace sitting there with him even though you barely knew each other. Usually you would feel awkward, try to force conversation in between bites, all the while worrying you were going to spill something or otherwise make a complete ass out of yourself. But he put you at ease. You didn’t know how the hell he did it, but he did. And he looked so happy. It warmed you to know that you’d played a part in that. It was nice to make someone feel welcome, to provide them with something they had forgotten they needed. You didn’t know it then, but he was doing the same for you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had anyone over for dinner. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had anyone over at all. The evening had only just begun but you already wanted to do this again, with him, and soon.

When he was done he threw his napkin on the table and stretched his arms high over his head. You knew that his shirt rose up again but the table blocked whatever view you may have had of his stomach.

“That was, and I’m not exaggerating here, the single most delicious meal I have ever had in my life.”

“Oh, stop it,” you said. “You’ve just been eating fast food for too long.”

“No,” he said, “I mean it. I don’t fuck around when it comes to food. You’re amazing. And to thank you properly, I’m going to do your dishes.”

You laughed. “No, you’re not.”

“Please, I want to.”

“No, seriously. The sink is fucked up. It takes forever. It’s a whole process. I was just going to leave them for the morning when I have time.”

“What’s wrong with the sink?” he asked. He was suddenly all business. “Drainage problem?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I can get about two dishes washed before it’s full and I have to wait for the water to go down. I’ve been meaning to get someone in here to fix it but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Fuck that, I’ll fix it right now.”

You looked at him with your head cocked slightly and raised an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna fix my sink right now?”

“Yes, I’m gonna fix your sink right now. It’s the least I can do.” He smiled as he grabbed his keys off the counter. “Let me just go grab the tools from my truck. I’ll be back in a second.”

With that he was out the door, and you just sat there in awe of him. He hadn’t even looked at the sink but you knew he could fix it. Hell, he could probably do it blindfolded. Something about that turned you the fuck on and you could feel your cheeks start to flush. He was outside for less than two minutes, but when he came back through the door it occurred to you that you’d felt his absence while he was gone. It scared you a little, but excited you more.

“You really don’t have to do this,” you said. “I didn’t invite you over to put you to work.”

“Would you just shut up and let me fix your damn sink, woman? You act like no one’s ever done you a favor before. Jeez.”

“OK, OK,” you said. “Get in there, handyman.”

As he moved toward the sink and started examining it, you thought about what he’d said and realized that it really had been some time since anyone had done you a kindness. He wasn’t trying to show off. He didn’t want anything in return. He just wanted to help you. His selflessness was almost as attractive as the sight of him hard at work under your sink. You finally got that peek at his stomach you’d missed earlier, and you were not disappointed. The trail of fuzz from his navel downward filled your head with thoughts about what lay at the end of it. You blatantly stared at his crotch as he worked with his legs splayed. No harm in it. You knew he couldn’t see you.

“All finished,” he said.

“Well now I’m really impressed,” you said. “Thank you so much. That was really nice of you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, and he smiled.

It was a satisfied smile, whether from a good deed done or a good job done or a combination of the two, you didn’t know. You thought that was how he probably looked when he’d finished a house and admired his handiwork and you felt a pang of something that could almost be called jealousy. The satisfaction of a job well done was something you hadn’t experienced in a long time. Making a perfectly blended cocktail for some twat in the bar couldn’t hold a candle to the feeling he must get from tearing a house down to its core and rebuilding it again – that sense of accomplishment, of having created something beautiful. With just that small gesture, you got a better sense of him – of why he did what he did and lived how he lived – and you were filled with nothing but the utmost respect for him. You would have been happy except it made you feel like a failure. Then you remembered that you’d promised yourself to come clean to him. He’d done as much for you. It was only fair.

You were sitting at the rusted table in your small backyard, having a cigarette with him, when you got up the balls to do it.

“I need to tell you something,” you said. Your voice betrayed your nerves and he looked at you, curious and maybe a little bit scared.

“What is it?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye and you watched the plume of smoke from your cigarette swirl and fan out in the light breeze as you spoke.

“I wasn’t entirely honest with you about what I do,” you began. “I work at the bar but I’m also… oh God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “I shower at Starbucks for Christ’s sake. What is it?”

He did it again – put you at ease with a few words and a kind smile. You continued.

“I studied drama in school. I moved out here to become an actress, not to bartend. It hasn’t been going all that well, and I didn’t want to tell you because it’s the same damn story everyone spits in this town. It’s just… I don’t know. I kind of feel like a loser.”

“Why the fuck would you feel like a loser?” he said. He stubbed out his cigarette and took you by the hand. “You’re taking a chance, trying to do something you love. This town is rough. I should know.”

You looked at him curiously and he continued.

“We’re not that different, you and me,” he said. “I’ve got the same story to tell.”

“You’re an actor?” you said, incredulous.

“Yeah,” he said, running his hand through his hair. He had great hair. You wanted to run your hands through it but you needed to focus on the conversation at hand. It was an important one. “I’ve done a couple little things – nothing you’d know. I know how it is, believe me.”

“I had no idea,” you said. “Jesus, is there anything you can’t do?”

“I can’t cook for shit,” he said. He chuckled and you felt like a weight had been lifted. “Feel better?”

“Yeah, actually. I do.”

“Good,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things. I said I wanted to get to know you and I meant it.”

“Same here,” you said, and you did want to know him. You wanted to know everything about him, especially what those pillowy lips would feel like against yours. At that moment all you wanted was for him to lean over and kiss you, but it wasn’t the time. Not yet, anyway.

“Well, I’m glad I got that off my chest,” you said. “So, you want to watch a movie or something?”

He gave your hand a little squeeze and let go.

“I would love to but I can’t,” he said. “I’ve got a real early start tomorrow.”

“Oh, OK.” You tried and failed to hide your disappointment.

“Seriously,” he said. “I want to stay but I really can’t. Not tonight.”

The way he looked at you told you he was being genuine, and you felt OK with him leaving even though you wanted him to stay. You knew he wanted to see you again, and that was enough.

“Rain check?” you said.

“Absolutely.”

You grabbed his jacket out of the closet and handed it to him as you walked him to the door. You went for the doorknob but he stayed your hand with his. You turned to face him and he spoke.

“There’s something I forgot to tell you,” he said. He moved closer to you and you could feel the heat coming off him as he spoke softly. “You are so beautiful.”

You blushed and smiled at him. It was your stupid grin, you knew, but you couldn’t hold it in. You weren’t the kind of girl who engaged in false modesty; you knew you were an attractive woman. But there’s something about hearing it from the mouth of a fine ass man that makes a woman feel like a queen.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

The question left you breathless and you managed a near-inaudible “Please.”

The kiss was magic. He cupped your face in his hands, palms rough on your skin, and pressed his mouth to yours. He took your lower lip in his mouth and kissed you so sweetly you could have cried. It was soft and slow but filled with passion, and when he pushed you gently against the door you brought your hands up to his arms and gave a light squeeze as you pulled him closer. They were hard and strong and felt even better than you’d imagined. He deepened the kiss and you felt him shrug up his shoulders, burying his hands in your hair like you’d so hoped he would. His hard body was pressed against you, rocking ever so slightly. It wasn’t lustful. He didn’t want anything more from you. But the passion of the kiss spilled into the motion of his hips and your whole body was buzzing by the time he pulled away. His hands lingered on your face and his eyes were practically pleading with you as he spoke.

“When can I see you again?”

You had to take a minute to catch your breath before you replied.

“Whenever you want,” you said. “You know where I’ll be.”

After he left you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Every thought in your head was of him and by the time you had calmed down enough to go to sleep your face hurt from smiling. As you got under the covers, you hoped you would dream of him. You weren’t disappointed in the morning. 


	3. Chapter 3

Your shift was winding down and Jeremy hadn’t shown up at the bar yet. He’d made it sound like he would come around that night, and that kiss had really spoken for itself, but you found yourself wondering if he’d changed his mind after he’d left. You hated yourself for doubting him but you could see it happening: him going back to his dark, cold house after having spent a cozy evening with you, looking around, and realizing his first instincts had been right – that he had nothing to offer, that he shouldn’t get involved. But he was wrong. You could only hope that you’d made it clear to him that none of that mattered to you.

You’d almost given up on him for the night when he walked in the door. He was cleaned up – still in his usual t-shirt and jeans, but he looked like he’d had a proper shower after work. Your face lit up when you saw him enter and he strode toward you like a man on a mission.

“Hey handsome,” you said.

He smiled and leaned over the bar, his face just inches from your own. He looked tired but excited.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Do you, now?” you said. You couldn’t stop staring at his lips and wanted nothing more than to lean in just a little closer and plant a kiss on them, but there were still a few customers lingering and you weren’t one for PDA. “I’m almost done here. I don’t have to close tonight so I’ve got about ten more minutes and then I’m free. You want a beer?”

“No thanks,” he said. “But I’ll take a coffee. It’s been a long fuckin’ day and I could use a pick-me-up.”

You laughed. “You don’t want that coffee, trust me. It’s essentially just there for show.”

“Good to know,” he said. “Alright, well you finish up and I’ll go grab a cup down the street. You want one?”

“I’d love one,” you said. “Black, no sugar.”

“You got it. My truck’s parked out back. I’ll meet you outside when you’re done.”

The next ten minutes seemed like ten hours and the millisecond your shift ended you grabbed your jacket and purse and practically ran out the back. You had no idea what kind of surprise Jeremy had for you, but you knew intrinsically that you’d like it. When you got to the parking lot you saw him leaning against his pickup. The thing was beat up as fuck and it looked like it had been through a war, but it was just so perfectly him you couldn’t help but smile.

“Sweet ride, I know,” he said, handing you your coffee.

“I like it,” you said. “It’s vintage.”

He chuckled and shook his head as he opened the passenger door for you.

“Your chariot, my lady,” he said, grabbing your coffee back for a second so you could heave yourself up into the cab.

You smiled as you took your cup from him and he shut the door. The truck had obviously just been cleaned and you realized he’d done it for you. You didn’t know how long he’d been planning whatever this was – it couldn’t have been that long considering it had been just over 24 hours since your first date – but it gave you butterflies to think of him going out of his way for you. He didn’t have to. He obviously hadn’t seen what the inside of your car looked like. You were laughing at the thought of it when he hoisted himself into the driver’s seat.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Did you clean your truck for me?”

“I might have,” he said. He had the cutest little smile on his face and you just wanted to grab him by the neck and kiss him all over.

“You didn’t have to do that. My car looks like a garbage dump.”

“Hey, if you can clean an entire condo, I can clean a fucking pickup truck. It’s only fair. Besides, it needed to be cleaned out for what I’ve got planned.”

“And what might that be?” you asked. You were intrigued and excited and you had to stop yourself from bouncing in your seat like a five-year-old.

“Nope, no spoilers. You’ll just have to wait and see.”

“You suck,” you said, and pretended to pout.

“Cute,” he said. “Very cute, but it’s not gonna work. You ready to go?”

“I am beyond ready. Please get me the fuck away from this place before I scream.”

“You got it,” he said, and the truck’s engine roared as he fired it up and tore out of the parking lot.

There was classic rock on the radio as he navigated the winding roads, taking you high up into the Hollywood Hills. You still had no fucking clue where you were going or what he had planned but you didn’t care. You were happy just to be with him, to watch him bobbing his head to the music and driving with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping out the beat on the open window. You found yourself staring at him. He always looked good, but at that moment, laid back and cruising with the road lights flashing and lighting him up in the darkness, he looked so fucking sexy it practically stole your breath. He caught you staring but you didn’t look away.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said with a smile. “Just admiring the view.”

He laughed and turned his eyes back to the road.

“Well, if you like it now, you’ll love it where we’re going.”

“Can you tell me yet?”

“Patience, woman, we’re almost there.”

Just then “New York State of Mind” came on the radio. He reached over and turned it up and when the lyrics kicked in after the intro he started to sing along. He had the most amazing voice and you got goose bumps listening to him croon along with Billy Joel. To you, Jeremy sounded infinitely better, and you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, letting the sound of his voice take you over and drown out the rest of the world. He stopped after a few verses and you opened your eyes.

“You sleepin’?” he asked.

“No,” you said. “Just listening to you. You have such a beautiful voice. Please don’t stop.”

He finished out the song for you and you gave him a whistle and a round of applause when it was over. It was dark but you thought he might be blushing.

“So you can sing, too?” you asked. “Jesus Christ.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Renaissance Man. Let me guess, you can play every instrument known to man and you compose concertos in your spare time.”

He laughed. “I’m not half bad on guitar and I can play the drums and the piano, but that’s about it.”

“That’s all? Just those?” You rolled your eyes and smiled.

“Occasionally I dabble in astrophysics.”

“Oh fuck off.”

He just looked at you and grinned like a schoolboy before starting to laugh. The sound of it was infectious and you couldn’t help but join in. By the time you reached your destination you knew you’d completely fallen for him. The point of no return had come and gone somewhere on that ride, and you were in too deep to look back. You didn’t want to look back. You could only hope he felt the same way.

The tires crunched on the gravel as he pulled over onto the side of the road next to a chain link fence.

“Here we are,” he said, and turned off the truck.

You were high up in the Hills and when you got out of the truck you saw you were parked near the edge of a steep drop off. All of Los Angeles was spread out in front of you, the city lights aglow in the darkness, and you could see for miles. He came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin perched on your shoulder as he spoke low into your ear.

“You like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” you said, turning your head to face him. You met his eyes and he smiled down at you, happy just to make you happy. He planted a chaste kiss on your lips, brief but wonderful, before pulling away.

“There’s one more thing,” he said. “Come on.”

He took you by the hand and brought you around the back of the pickup, opening it up to reveal a tarp. You were confused for a moment as you stood there but when he removed it you saw he’d covered the truck’s bed with blankets and tossed in a few pillows. He stood there for a moment, waiting for your reaction. He looked nervous and it was so sweet you almost started to cry.

“Jeremy…” you started, but you didn’t know how to finish.

“Get in,” he said, and he gave you a leg up.

He followed behind you and grabbed two pillows, placing them next to each other leaning against the side of the truck facing the city view. He gestured for you to sit and picked up a spare blanket, draping it over your shoulders before sitting down beside you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked. He was still in his t-shirt and you were all wrapped up.

“I’m used to the cold,” he said. “Gets pretty chilly in the house some nights.”

You didn’t know what to say. The thought of him alone in that cold, dark house made you sad.

“Well, if you do get cold, there’s plenty of room for you under this blanket.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked.

“It might be,” you said.

“Well, I can’t say no to that.”

He wrapped himself up with you in the blanket. It was heavy-duty flannel, old and soft, and it smelled like him. You knew without asking it was the one he slept with and it made the moment that much more intimate. He brought one arm around your waist, pulling you in tight to him, and as you placed your arm on top of his he interlaced his fingers with yours. You felt the cold metal of the rings he wore growing warmer under your touch and you rested your head on his shoulder, staring out at the view you would have never known existed had he not come along to show you.

“Thank you,” you said.

“For what?”

“For this.”

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Really.”

“It’s not nothing,” you said. “It’s the farthest thing from nothing. It’s beautiful and thoughtful and I love it. When did you come up with this, anyway? I thought you had an early day today.”

“I did,” he said. “But I couldn’t get to sleep last night. I kept thinking about you and last night and I just really wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to take you out but I couldn’t think of anywhere to go and I finally remembered this place and… I don’t know… I just thought you might like it. I hoped you would anyway.”

“Well, you thought right. This is perfect. Best date ever.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he said, and you could tell from his tone that he really thought so.

You knew then that he still didn’t get it, and you needed to make it clear to him that you didn’t care about the things money could buy or the places it could take you. You didn’t need to be wined and dined. You didn’t need him to buy you things to show you he cared. You just wanted to be with him, whenever and wherever. You tilted your head up to face him.

“I’m not just saying it. Any asshole can take a woman out to dinner or a movie. It takes someone special to even think of doing something like this. There is no place in the world I would rather be than right here with you. I mean it.”

“You really do mean it, don’t you?” he said. It was less a question than a statement he was trying to convince himself was true.

“I really do,” you said. “Now shut up and let me enjoy this million-dollar view.”

He laughed and hugged you tight to him, resting his head on top of yours, and you draped your arm across his midsection. His stomach gave a little under your grasp but the muscle underneath was strong and solid. There was just enough skin to pinch, and you couldn’t resist. He giggled when you did, and it was a funny sound coming out of such a manly man.

“Leave my beer gut alone, woman.”

“I like it.”

“I like you,” he said, and he turned and kissed the top of your head.

You felt the kiss echo throughout your body and you smiled as you ran your hand across his stomach. You could feel him responding to you, his muscles growing taut under your touch and his chest rising higher as his breathing deepened. You looked up at him, and then at the sky beyond.

“You know what I miss about home?” you said.

“Your mom’s mashed potatoes?”

“Well, yes, but at least I could take the recipe with me. No, I miss seeing stars at night. It’s one of those things I didn’t even think about when I moved, but you can’t see shit in a city. At home I would look up at night and they were everywhere – big ones, small ones – like a huge bowl just filled with them and turned upside down. I miss that. I didn’t realize that until just now.”

“Have you been outside the city at all since you moved?” he asked.

“Does Orange County count?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No, I mean like Joshua Tree or something. There are some good stars to be seen out in the desert.”

“I wish,” you said. “I haven’t had a chance to do much of anything but work and audition since I got here.”

“We’ll go,” he said. “One of these days, we’ll go.”

You nuzzled into the crook of his arm and breathed him in.

“You smell good.”

“I showered,” he said. “A real one. Had to call in a favor for it, but you’re worth it.”

“But I like you when you’re dirty.”

There was a hint of naughtiness in your tone and it wasn’t lost on him. He shifted you around to face him and looked at you with a half smile and a raised eyebrow.

“You like me dirty, huh?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded and bit your lower lip.

You inched your face closer to his and he brought his hands to your hips, pulling you into him. Your chest was pressed up against his and you could feel his heart beating against you. Your lips were almost touching when he spoke.

“How dirty?” he asked.

You smiled and kept your eyes locked on to his as you swung one leg over him, straddling his lap as you reached back and slid his hands from your hips down to your ass. You brushed your lips against his and his breath hitched as you whispered.

“Filthy.”

He didn’t ask this time. Didn’t have to. He just kissed you, hard and deep. You ran your hands through his hair and it made him moan and tighten his grip, and when he gave your ass a good firm squeeze you couldn’t help but start to rock slowly on top of him. He ran one hand up your back and buried it in your hair, pulling it just a little as he took your bottom lip between his teeth. It was your turn to moan now, and yours was louder than his. That’s when he pulled your head back, exposing your neck and kissing a line from your chin down to the V of your t-shirt. When he reached the fabric he retraced his steps with the tip of his tongue, and the long, slow lick that ended at the tip of your chin made you groan with the anticipation of what else that tongue could do.

You looked in his eyes and his pupils were blown wide. You knew he wanted you. You could see it and you could feel it. He was hard beneath you and fighting the urge to take you right there in the back of his truck on the side of the road. It was cruel, perhaps, but you couldn’t help but reach down and palm his erection through his jeans. He hissed when you touched him and you laughed.

“And you say you’ve got nothing to offer a woman,” you said, and took your hand away.

He was about to kiss you again when a car drove past.

“We should probably go,” he said. “You’re going to get us arrested if you keep this up.”

“You started it.”

“Did not,” he said. “But I’ll finish it.”

“Is that a promise?” you asked.

“It’s a fucking guarantee,” he said. “But not tonight. And not in my pickup.”

You laughed and he jumped down out of the truck. When you got to the edge of the truck’s bed he reached up and took you by the waist, lifting you and placing you on the ground like you weighed nothing. He opened the passenger door for you and you got in, but he lingered outside for a moment.

“You coming?” you asked.

“I, uhh, I need a minute.”

“Oh,” you said, and you giggled. “Take your time.”

“You want a cigarette?” he asked, lighting one up for himself.

“No thanks,” you said. “I’m trying to cut back. I made a rule to only smoke when I’m drinking now. Plus people in this town look at you like you’re the worst person in the world when they see you smoking.”

“I know that look,” he said. “I get it a lot. But good for you, it’s a nasty habit.”

He said it in that way all smokers do – the one that says, yeah I know it’s bad for me but I do it anyway so fuck off. He took a long, deep drag and exhaled with that satisfied look one gets when the nicotine hits. You really did want one, but you refrained. You were trying to quit but he looked so fucking sexy out there you just wanted to join him. Instead you sat in the cab of the truck with a wicked grin on your face, thinking about the night you’d just had.

You liked the effect you had on him, and the animal part of your brain wanted to take him home and get him straight into your bed, but it was too soon. You’d made it clear to him that you wanted him – and standing outside the truck waiting for his erection to calm itself, you knew he wanted you, too – but the logical part of your mind told you not to sleep with him just yet. He was special to you. You wanted this to turn into something real, and while you didn’t think he was the type that just wanted to fuck you and bounce, you couldn’t take that chance. It had happened to you before, and it hurt like hell. You could take that rejection again from a lesser man, but not from him. You cared about him too much. You didn’t want to lose him.

When he was ready he popped behind the wheel and started up the truck.

“You OK now?” you asked, the wicked grin still playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he said. “But not for long if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Sorry,” you said.

“No you’re not,” he replied, and he laughed.

When he dropped you at home you thanked him again for everything. He placed a hand on the small of your back as he walked you to your door – a small gesture, but one that said very subtly that he’d claimed you for his own. And that’s what you wanted. You wanted to be his. You unlocked your front door and turned to him.

“If you kiss me again, I promise I’ll be good,” you said. “No inappropriate touching.”

He leaned in and cupped your face.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I like it when you’re bad.”

He kissed you, not gently but not too deep – a perfect end to a perfect date – and you said goodnight. You’d already discussed plans to see him again: cashing in that rain check on a movie night at your place. You wanted to broach the subject of going to see his house, but you knew you couldn’t. Not yet. He was obviously still sensitive about it and all you wanted was to make him feel comfortable around you. You thought you were doing a decent job so far and you didn’t want to fuck things up now. You’d bring it up with him at some point, but now was not the time. Now was the time to get into bed and think of him, of all the things you wanted to do to him and all the things you wanted him to do to you.

You never slept so well as you did the nights you dreamed of him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Jeremy had told you he’d be busy at work for the next couple of days and probably wouldn’t make it into the bar, but you knew you had your movie date to look forward to so you could deal with the wait. You wanted to see him sooner, of course, but you understood that life gets in the way sometimes. He was a hard worker, very committed to doing his job and doing it right, and you respected that about him so much that you couldn’t complain. But the past few days had been brutal. In addition to working the late shift every night, you’d gone on three auditions. Two of them had been a total disaster and you’d known you didn’t stand a chance from the moment you walked out the door, but you really thought you’d nailed the third one. It was a small part, but a good one, and you thought you’d be a perfect fit.

When you got the rejection call, it fucked with your head more than usual. You knew you shouldn’t let it get to you but you couldn’t help it. You had managed to stay strong for months and keep at it, but a person can only take so much before they break, and you broke down hard. You let yourself cry, you drowned yourself in more bottles of cheap wine than you cared to count, you smoked too many cigarettes, and then you cried some more. All you wanted was to be able to call Jeremy and talk to him – just talk. You knew he could make you feel better with a few simple words but he was unreachable, and that just made you feel worse. If he knew, he’d be there for you in a second – you knew that – but instead you were on your own. You had no support system in L.A. You hadn’t had time to make friends, and the ones you had back home were just as bad as your parents when it came to your choice of career. You had never felt more alone, and much as you hated yourself for it, you found yourself wondering if maybe Jeremy wasn’t the right man for you after all. You needed him to be there, to hold you and tell you it would be OK. But he wasn’t, and there wasn’t a goddamn thing you could do about it.

Your day off had finally arrived. Normally you would have woken early and cheerfully went about your business – running errands, doing a bit of shopping, maybe heading to the beach for a few hours to enjoy the ocean you’d always dreamed about back in your landlocked hometown – but you couldn’t drag yourself out of bed. You were a bit hung over from indulging yourself in a bottle of Two-Buck Chuck when you got home from work the night before, you were still feeling sorry for yourself, and for the first time since you’d laid eyes on him you were dreading seeing Jeremy.

You were pissed. It wasn’t fair to him and you knew it, but you couldn’t help it. He’d laid his cards on the table from the start and you’d accepted him without question, but you’d needed him – really needed him – and he hadn’t been there. You found yourself wondering how many times this would happen, if there would ever come a day when you could pick up the phone and call him and have him rush over. You were angry with yourself for feeling so needy. You’d always prided yourself on your strength and independence, but you’d fallen hard for him. You wanted him to be a real part of your life, and the fact that he was floating in and out on his own terms made you feel like shit. It wasn’t that you felt used by him; it was more that you had no sense of control. You hated that feeling, and although you knew it wasn’t his fault, you were starting to resent him for it.

You had planned on cooking for him again but you couldn’t be bothered dragging your ass to the grocery store. Instead you slept late, and when you woke at around noon you just puttered around for hours in your condo, reading trashy magazines and watching reality shows. It was crap, you knew, but it was a guilty pleasure, and watching skanky, low-class morons make fools of themselves on TV made you feel better about yourself, if only for an hour at a time. You forced yourself into the shower but didn’t give a fuck about your clothes, throwing on some yoga pants and a tank top. You didn’t bother with shoes and you only put on makeup because your eyes were puffy and ringed with dark circles from days of boozing and crying and sleeping like shit.

Normally you would have waited until he arrived to start drinking but you needed some hair of the dog and you just didn’t give a fuck. You were on your second glass of wine when the doorbell rang. You placed your glass on the coffee table and made your way slowly to the door. You had hoped the wine would calm you so you could shake all the negative shit you’d been feeling and just enjoy his company, but when you reached the door you felt no better than you had before. You took a deep breath before opening it.

He stood there in his uniform – tight t-shirt, jeans, and that leather jacket – looking good, if a bit dirtier than last time. He was smiling and holding flowers he’d very obviously stolen out of someone’s garden. It should have made your face light up into a joyful smile but you could only manage a half-hearted one.

“Hey,” you said. His face flooded with concern and he knew immediately something was wrong. He let the flowers fall to his side, forgotten.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said. You didn’t have the energy to fake it. “Come in.”

He followed you inside and you went straight for your glass of wine.

“Well, these are for you, obviously, but fuck that.” He discarded the flowers on the table by the door. “What happened?”

You plopped yourself down on the couch and brought your knees up to your chest, wine glass in one hand and the other buried in your hair. You sighed deep. You still hadn’t decided how much you wanted to tell him.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you said.

He sat down on the other end of the couch, giving you the bit of distance he sensed you needed.

“Start at the beginning.”

You told him about your week – the auditions, the rejections, the sleepless nights filled with self-doubt – but you left out the parts most pertinent to him. You couldn’t look at him while you spoke, but it felt good to get it out, and it was nice to finally have him there. When you were done you took a sip of wine and looked him in the eyes. He looked upset and he was wringing his hands.

“Fuck,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair and balled the other into a fist. “I should have been here.”

“I really wish you had been,” you said. “I could have used someone to talk to.”

You tried not to cry but it was a pointless endeavor. You managed to keep the tears to a minimum, tried to hide your face so he didn’t see you, but he did, and he looked completely shattered.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s not your fault.”

He moved closer to you and took your glass, placing it on the coffee table. He took your hands in his and squeezed them.

“It’s not fine,” he said. “I should have come by the bar to see you. I fucked up.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I wish…”

“I know,” he said, and he took you in his strong arms. “This is what I was afraid of. I fucking hate myself right now.”

You pulled away and looked at him. His eyes were big and blue and sorrowful. You hoped to God you wouldn’t make him cry.

“Don’t,” you said. “You told me how it was gonna be. I knew. I accepted it. I just didn’t expect to feel this way. I’m usually stronger than this. I feel so fucking needy right now it makes me sick.”

“Everybody needs somebody,” he said. “That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you a fucking human being.”

He did it again. A few words and he made everything OK. It didn’t solve the whole problem, of course, but at least you didn’t feel like a complete fool anymore. And for the first time in days, you smiled.

“I love the way your whole face lights up when you smile,” he said. He brought his hand to your face and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “You’re always gorgeous, but when you smile… I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you said, “but I’m pretty sure I look like complete shit right now.”

“You really don’t,” he said, “and if you don’t mind me saying, your ass looks amazing in those pants.”

“Excuse me, sir, were you ogling my ass during my time of need?”

Your tone was playful. You were starting to feel like yourself again.

“I couldn’t help myself,” he said. He took his hand from your face, reached under you on the couch, and grabbed a handful. “This thing is distracting. I’m just a man. I’m powerless to resist it.”

“Well, how ‘bout you get over here and show me how much of a man you are?”

He smiled and leaned in to kiss you, and you felt your reservations melt away when his lips touched yours. You kissed him back hungrily, pawing at his back and his hair. You needed that kiss. You’d needed it for days, and when you got it, it was like oxygen. He kept his hand planted on your ass and brought the other to the back of your neck, and his touch made you forget yourself for a while as your lips danced with his. It was only when you heard his stomach growl that you snapped back to reality.

“Fuck, I didn’t make dinner,” you said. “I was going to but I just…”

“Stop,” he said. He raised a thick finger to your lips to silence you and it was all you could do not to take it in your mouth and suck on it. “I don’t care. I would feel even worse if you’d cooked for me after the shit you’ve been through.”

“I’ll order a pizza or something. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Seriously. I just want you to relax.”

“That’s kind of all I want to do,” you said, but that wasn’t exactly true. Now that you were feeling better, there were plenty of things you wanted to do. “So is pizza OK or…?”

“Whatever you want,” he said. “I don’t care. I just want to see you smile.”

You knew what he could do to make you smile. You’d been a train wreck for days – a sloppy, neurotic mess – and you needed the crazy fucked out of you. If he could calm you with his words, you could only imagine what his body would be able to do, but you were hesitant about making a move. You knew he probably wouldn’t instigate. He felt like shit for letting you down, and you worried that maybe he was having second thoughts about being with you. Kissing and a bit of light groping was one thing, but sex was a whole different story and you didn’t know where his head was at now. You tried to push all the dirty thoughts out of your head and focus on the tasks at hand, and after the pizza was ordered, you turned your mind to the movie.

“I can’t decide if I want to watch something funny or something fucked up,” you said. “What do you think?”

He was kneeling down, perusing the shelf full of DVDs, and you shamelessly stared at his ass. You praised yourself for remembering to stash your porn somewhere else, although you briefly allowed your mind to wander into a fantasy about what might have happened if he had discovered it on the shelf. You tried to snap out of it but it was near impossible with his perfect, round ass right in front of you. You decided his body was unfair and you didn’t know how the fuck you were going to get through the movie.

“How about a little bit of both?” he asked, pulling out _American Psycho_.

You laughed. “Perfect.”

And it was. You’d felt like murdering people all week. Might as well live vicariously through Christian Bale. It eased your mind a bit that he’d picked something with gratuitous nudity and sex. Maybe his mind was where you wanted it to be after all.

The pizza came quick and you set up on the couch with some paper plates and a beer each.

“I love this movie,” he said as it started up.

“Should I be worried?” you asked.

“You’re the one who owns it, sweetheart.”

“Good point,” you replied.

“Besides,” he said, “I left my axe and chainsaw back at the house.”

You laughed. “Well, I feel safe now. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said, and you settled in to eat and watch.

When you were both done eating he wordlessly grabbed you and pulled you in next to him, and you curled up against his chest as he draped one arm around you. You both laughed your asses off at the business card scene, and though you tried to contain yourself you could never get through the axe murder without cracking up.

“You’re twisted,” he said.

“I’m sorry but Patrick’s face during this scene kills me. And fucking Huey Lewis and the News… it’s hilarious. If that makes me twisted, so be it.”

“Now I’m the one who’s worried,” he said.

“Oh, shut up,” you said, and you swatted his chest.

“See, you’re already getting violent,” he said and he chuckled. You smiled up at him. You loved that sound.

You were already horny as fuck just from having him next to you when the first threesome scene started. He shifted his weight a bit and cleared his throat. You knew he was thinking about fucking you, and you were thinking the same thing, and you had to say something to break the tension or else you would end up jumping on top of him like a rabid animal and ripping his clothes to shreds.

“Poor Christie,” you said. “Things are not going to end well for her.”

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s a great scene, though. It’s a shame we’re not going to make it there.”

He turned to you and you saw the lust in his eyes. You were almost certain yours looked the same.

“And why is that?” you asked. You knew the answer.

“Because if I don’t get you in that bedroom soon I’m gonna fucking explode.”

He growled his words at you and you knew he wanted it just as much as you did. You exhaled sharply and closed your eyes.

“Fuck, I need it so bad you have no idea.”

“Oh, you’ll get it.”

He scrambled off the couch and reached down, sweeping you up in his arms. Before he carried you to the bedroom he put his lips to your ear and whispered low and throaty.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m gonna fuck you within an inch of your life, but I promise I won’t kill you.”

You were soaking wet by the time he threw you down on the bed. You ripped your shirt over your head and threw it across the room and he did the same. He stood shirtless at the edge of your bed, looking down at you with a predatory grin.

“Clothes. Off. Now.”

You managed to unhook and discard your bra before he yanked you to the edge of the bed by your ankles.

“Too slow,” he said, and he smiled as he hooked his fingers under the waistband of your pants and peeled them off, taking your panties with them.

He stood there for a moment, stock-still and drinking in the sight of you. He licked his lips and made a sound like he’d just tasted something delicious.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he said. “Even better than in my dreams.”

“You dream about me?” you asked.

“Constantly,” he said.

“And what do you dream about?”

He crawled on top of you and spread your legs with his knee.

“Kissing you,” he said, and brought his lips to that spot on your neck just below your ear that drove you mad with need. He kissed a slow line down your neck to your chest and took your breasts in his hands. His palms were rough against your skin and your eyes rolled back in your head as he continued.

“And licking you,” he said, and he ran the tip of his tongue in a hot circle around your nipple before taking it into his mouth. He sucked you gently and flicked his tongue up and down while he ran his thumb back and forth across your other nipple. You were breathing heavy by the time he took his mouth away.

“And tasting you,” he said, and licked down your stomach, stopping just above the well-trimmed patch of hair you kept there.

“In my dreams you taste like honey.”

He brought his hands to your thighs and smiled as he pushed them wider. You were throbbing for him and when you felt his tongue start to lap at you, you threw your head back and cried out.

“FUCK.”

He worked you open with his tongue, his wide nose pressed to your clit. You loved his nose. It was big but it fit his face well. You had no idea it had other uses. His grip on your thighs tightened and he brought his mouth to your clit, taking it between his lips and kissing it twice before his tongue started to work its magic. He was flicking and swirling away in some pattern that left you aching, and after a while you couldn’t even pinpoint exactly what he was doing to you. All you knew was that it felt like heaven and you brought your hands down and buried them in his hair. When you gave it a light pull he moaned against you and the vibrations brought you close.

When he slid a thick finger in and crooked it upward you almost exploded. One of his fingers felt like two of your own, and you hadn’t had anything more than that inside you in longer than you cared to remember. When you felt the second one you had to grab the bedspread. The third one was your undoing. You felt your walls clamp down on him as he plunged his fingers deep and you clung tight to the bed as your back arched up. You knew he could feel it and he knew what to do, and when you came shuddering and screaming he brought his free hand to your hip and held you in place while you rode out your pleasure.

You fell back, euphoric, and he crawled back on top of you with a satisfied smile on his face.

“I was wrong,” he said. “You taste like peaches and cream.”

He kissed you deep and you could taste yourself on his lips. You felt his cock, hard through his jeans, and you reached down and ran your hand over the fabric. He broke from the kiss and moaned, and when you started fiddling with his belt he stopped you and sat back. You watched his hands as he undid his belt and his pants and his bare chest was calling to you. You sat up and ran your hands over it as he slid his pants and boxers down over his ass and when he got up to discard them you got your first look at his cock as it sprang free, rock hard and ready for you. It was thick and veiny, echoing those arms you loved so much, and you licked your lips at the sight of it.

You got up on your knees at the edge of the bed and looked up at him as you wrapped your hand around it and started to stroke – gently, just grazing the skin – and then brought your mouth to his chest. You kissed around his pecs and his breastbone and when you took his nipple in your mouth he threw his head back and moaned.

“Oh God, I need you now,” he said.

You took your mouth away, giving the nipple a quick lick before you looked up into his eyes. They were heavy-lidded and filled with desire. You’d never wanted anyone more.

“Then take me,” you said, and he pounced on you. He pinned your arms down at the wrist with one hand, the other hand tracing the curve of your body as he kissed you deep.

“Condoms?” he asked.

“In the drawer,” you said.

He was up and back in a flash, kneeling in between your legs as he slid the condom down over his cock. He grabbed himself by the base and leaned over, rubbing the tip across your entrance a few times before breaching you. You moaned long and low as he pushed slowly into you, letting your pussy stretch to take him in, and when he was all the way in he leaned down and kissed you before starting to move. He went slowly at first, savoring the feel of your cunt wrapped tight and wet around him, but when you hooked your legs around his ass and pulled him closer he took the cue. He quickened his pace and you cried out for more. You could feel his ass flexing with each thrust and the sight of his arms on either side of you bearing his weight was almost too much. You ran your hands over them and up across his shoulders, finding the nape of his neck and pulling him down on top of you.

He braced himself on his elbows, his hands buried in your hair, and he pressed his forehead to yours as he fucked you. He was breathing hot and heavy and his eyes were locked on you, watching the way you responded to him, adjusting accordingly. You bucked up under him, meeting him thrust for thrust and gripping his hair so tight you thought you might rip it out. He liked it, though. You could tell by the way he grunted and groaned. When he started to roll his hips you felt it start.

“Oh God, just like that,” you said. “Don’t stop.”

“I want to watch you come,” he said. He was hard at work and panting on top of you and his voice was breathy enough you could have lost your shit just listening to it. “Are you gonna come for me?”

“Fuck yes I’m so close.”

“Come for me, gorgeous.”

And you did. Hard. You came screaming his name, gripping his ass so tight in your hands you thought you might leave bruises. He moaned as your pussy pulsed around his cock and you knew he was close, too. When you came down from your high you smiled up at him.

“Your turn,” you said, and you flipped him on his back.

You straddled him and slid yourself down the length of his cock, moaning the whole way to the bottom, and he hissed when he felt himself deep inside of you. You started to rock back and forth on top of him and he brought his hands to your hips, gripping you hard as you rode him. You braced yourself on his chest and started to bounce, and each time your ass slapped against his thighs he would grunt.

“Oh fuck, I’m about to blow,” he said. “Don’t stop.”

“You like that?” you asked.

“I fucking love it,” he said, and he dug his fingers into your hips and started to buck underneath you.

He yelled out, “FUCK,” and then he growled. He was staring at your tits bouncing, his lips puckered into a perfect O as he puffed out air with each thrust. “I’m gonna come.”

“Do it,” you said. “Come for me, baby.”

He clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut and he came hard with an animal sound. You slowed your movements but you didn’t stop, watching his chest rise and fall as he finished. He sat up and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him and kissing you deep. He didn’t take his mouth off of yours as he rolled you over on your back, and when he finally came up for air you looked up at him and saw something like love in his eyes.

You weren’t going to say it, and neither was he, but it was there in the room, waiting. It was enough, for now.

“Stay with me tonight,” you said, pleading.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, and he smiled.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead. He didn’t see the tear when it fell from your eye. 


	5. Chapter 5

When you woke in the morning Jeremy was already gone. You knew he would be. His days start at dawn and you can’t roll your ass out of bed until 8 on your best day. You vaguely remembered him kissing you goodbye when he left, but you were in a deep, satisfying sleep and couldn’t rouse yourself. The combination of your body’s blissful exhaustion and having him hold you as you fell asleep was better than any drug. You slept like a fucking baby, and you woke up with a smile on your face. You reached over to grab the pillow he’d slept on, hoping to get a whiff of him, and found a note perched on top, folded over once. It was addressed “Peaches,” and you were grinning like an idiot before you even opened it.

_Morning, beautiful. Didn’t want to wake you. You look like an angel when you sleep. I don’t think I need to tell you that last night was wonderful but I’m going to anyway. I’ll be by the bar tonight when I get done with work. Haven’t even left your place and I already miss you. – Jeremy_

You must have read it twenty times, a smile plastered on your face as you memorized the words. His handwriting was atrocious but you found it endearing. You knew you loved him then. You’d known it last night. Maybe you’d known it for a while, but it was the note – such a small token, but something tangible to hold on to – that solidified it in your mind. He didn’t have to leave it. You already knew you’d be seeing him that night. But he did. He must have been exhausted – he’d have had to leave your place at 4:30 in the morning to get to work on time – but he took the time to write it. He set it next to you while you slept knowing you’d find it first thing: the next best thing to having him there when you woke. You felt his absence strongly but it was a good ache – the kind you only get when you have something worth missing when it’s gone. Your shift couldn’t start soon enough.

The bar was a shit show that night. It was some douchebag’s birthday and he rolled in twenty guys deep about an hour into your shift. You could tell they had already been drinking but they weren’t far gone enough to get turned away at the door. You resigned yourself to a night of spilled drinks and shitty tips. You just prayed no one puked. The birthday boy seemed nice enough, shitfaced as he was, but his friends were real assholes. They were loud as fuck, borderline harassing the few women in the place, and spilling shit everywhere. They had only been there for an hour but the tab was already almost six hundred dollars – great for the owner, terrible for you. You saw maybe a dollar or two a drink for a tip, which was insulting enough given that you could tell these fuckers had money to burn, and you had to split everything with your barback. He was earning his fucking money that night, though. More booze was ending up on the floor and tables than in their mouths. The poor guy spent half the night mopping up spills and sweeping broken glass. You decided you’d give him the lion’s share of whatever the take was that night. He’d earned it and then some.

It was about an hour later and their tab had just broken four figures when Jeremy walked in. The douche crew was singing along, loudly and terribly, to “Livin’ on a Prayer,” and he stopped and stared at them for a moment, half amused and half disgusted, before shaking his head and making his way to the bar. He had to squeeze through the crowd to get to his usual spot and things were so crazy you didn’t see him at first. People were shouting out drink orders rapid fire, leaning over the bar and waving cash in your face. You fucking hated that. You were just about to lose your shit and cut off one of the drunkest assholes when you saw Jeremy in the corner. He was laughing. You dropped what you were doing and walked over to him.

“Hey, peaches,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you you’re sexy when you’re angry?”

You smiled.

“You can’t call me peaches in public,” you said, leaning in to him. “Now all I can think about is your head between my legs.”

He licked his lips and smiled back at you. “That can be arranged,” he said.

“I fucking wish,” you said. “This place is a nightmare tonight. I can’t wait to get off.”

“I can’t wait to get you off,” he said, and he grinned at you wickedly as you went to fetch him a beer.

“HEY!” Some asshole was screaming from the other side of the bar and you rolled your eyes. You knew where this was going. “That guy just got here. I’ve been waiting ten minutes. Where’s my fucking drink?”

You saw Jeremy’s jaw clench but you flashed him a look that told him not to engage. You could handle it. You’d handled worse. You walked over to the asshole at the other end of the bar.

“That guy,” you said, pointing to Jeremy, “is a regular. He is respectful and doesn’t curse me out if he has to wait a few minutes for a drink. YOU,” you said, pointing at him, “are an impatient prick, and if you yell at me one more time you’re cut the fuck off. Got it?”

The guy rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. This place sucks anyway.”

“You’re free to go somewhere else,” you said, and you got him his drink just to get him the fuck out of your sight.

“No fucking tip for you,” he said.

“There’s a surprise,” you said, and as he walked away you heard him call you a bitch. You were happy Jeremy was too far away to hear it. He already looked like he wanted to choke the guy out.

Things were finally calming down a bit and you got a moment’s peace to go talk to Jeremy.

“Kill me, please,” you said, sipping on the whiskey you shouldn’t have been drinking. Your boss didn’t care if you had a drink or two on the job, but the unspoken rule was to wait until just before close. You still had over an hour left, but you needed something to take the edge off and you’d stopped giving a fuck a long time ago. If your boss wanted to fire you, you’d almost welcome it.

You heard a glass shatter somewhere and sighed, taking down the rest of your drink in one gulp. Jeremy leaned in to you and grabbed your hand.

“You’re almost done,” he said. “And I promise I’ll make it worthwhile later. You need to be rewarded for all your hard work.”

You smiled. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Just then the birthday boy came stumbling up to the bar. His friend was holding him up, practically dragging him, and when they reached the counter the friend leaned over and shouted to you.

“Hey, honey, come over here. I gotta ask you a question.”

“This should be good,” you said to Jeremy before walking over. “What can I do for you boys?”

“Well my friend here,” he slurred, “it’s his birthday, and we were wondering, if we gave you a big, fat tip, would you suck his cock?”

You scowled and turned to go get the bouncer when the guy reached out and grabbed your arm. Jeremy had been up and out of his seat the second the word “cock” passed the guy’s lips. Before you even knew what was happening, Jeremy was grabbing the guy by the shirt. He threw him up against the nearest wall and pinned him there.

“You kiss your mom with that mouth, motherfucker?” he yelled.

“Get the fuck off me, man. I’ll call the cops.” He was struggling to get away but Jeremy dwarfed him in size and strength. The kid didn’t stand a chance.

“Go ahead and call the cops. You can tell them how you’re a scumbag piece of shit who harasses a hardworking woman trying to do her fucking job.”

You should have put a stop to it but you were frozen in place, just watching it all play out. You’d never seen Jeremy angry, and he was fucking terrifying, but you were so turned on you had to brace yourself on the bar. The muscles in his arms were raging as he gripped the kid and you felt your cunt start to throb and moisten. You knew it was wrong, but you let it continue.

“Apologize to her,” Jeremy said. “Now.”

“Fuck her, and fuck you too, bro.”

Jeremy pulled him forward and slammed him back again.

“I said apologize, motherfucker, or I’ll put your head through this wall.”

“Fine, fuck, alright.” The kid looked over at you. “I’m sorry, OK? Jesus Christ.”

“Like you mean it, asshole.” Jeremy wasn’t letting go and you started to worry that maybe he would get tossed out along with the rest of them. The bouncer was nearly on him when you spoke.

“Let him go, Jeremy,” you said.

He looked at you, his eyes asking permission, and you nodded. He let go and the kid scrambled around him toward the door. The rest of his crew followed except for the one sucker who got stuck with the tab, but your barback was taking care of it. You came out from behind the bar and went over to Jeremy, who was apologizing to the bouncer.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said. “I just got heated.”

“It’s cool. Just let me handle it next time, alright?”

“You got it, brother.”

The bouncer clapped Jeremy on the back and walked back to his post by the door. Jeremy turned to you. You could tell he was still worked up but he had a guilty look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just lost it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said. You leaned in close to him and whispered in his ear. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I’m so wet right now.”

He looked at you and cocked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t you have to close tonight?”

You laughed. “After that bullshit? I’m out of here. Someone else can take care of it. I don’t give a fuck. Besides, I need to properly thank my man for coming to my rescue.”

“Say that again,” he said.

“Say what?”

“Tell me I’m your man.”

You smiled. “You’re my man,” you said. “My big, strong, sexy fucking man.”

“And you’re my woman,” he said. He pulled you close, claiming you. “And nobody fucking talks to you like that. Let’s go.”

You couldn’t get out the door fast enough. By the time you got to the parking lot you were aching for him. The lot was dark and deserted and you had one thing on your mind. You took a quick look around you before pushing him up against the door of his pickup and kissing him with a ferocity you didn’t know was possible. He kissed you back, hard, and brought his hands to your ass and squeezed. You pulled away.

“Get in the truck,” you said, and you opened the passenger door to get in.

“Aren’t you driving your car home?” he asked. He looked confused.

“Get in the fucking truck,” you said. “Now.”

He rushed around and got into the driver’s seat and the second the door closed you pounced on him, grabbing fistfuls of leather in your hands as you devoured him. The cab was tight but it would do for what you had in mind. You reached down and rubbed his cock through his jeans. It was half-hard, but you knew you could fix that quickly. He pulled out of the kiss when you touched him.

“What are you doing?” he asked. He had a slight smile on his face and you bit your lower lip before responding.

“There’s only one cock I’m sucking tonight,” you said, “and it’s right here.”

You gave him a hard squeeze and he moaned.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Here?”

You nodded and began to undo his belt buckle, slowly but purposefully. You could see him growing harder as you got the button and zipper undone. He lifted his butt up off the seat and helped you pull his pants and boxers to his knees. His cock was nearly ready for you and you flashed him a naughty smile as you took it in your hand. You leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips before you brought your head down to his lap and started to stroke, slow but firm. When you swirled your tongue around the tip he hissed, and as you licked the underside, base to tip, he couldn’t stop himself from yelling out.

“FUCK.”

He was hard as a rock now and you took him into your mouth, tightening your grip and twisting your strokes as you massaged the head with your lips and tongue. You took him deeper, keeping time with the movement of your hand, and you heard him punch the headrest of the passenger seat and groan.

“You are so fucking good.”

You hummed onto his cock and he moaned as he brought his hands to your hair, balling them up and yanking some hair free from your ponytail. It felt good and it made you want more of him. You took him deeper and deeper with each bob of your head – you couldn’t take all of it, but you wanted your mouth full of him. You loved the way the veins felt as you slid your tongue across them. You loved the little sounds he made as you brought him closer and closer. You ran your free hand up under his shirt and toyed with the hairs of his happy trail, and you could feel his abs tensing up as he neared climax.

“Oh, God. I’m gonna come,” he said, and he tried to pull you off of him but you shook your head and kept going. You wanted to taste him.

He started huffing and bucked up a little into your mouth and when he came he gripped your head and massaged your scalp as you milked him dry. It was the best fucking thing you’d ever felt. Your head and neck were tingling as you felt him spurt hot and heavy into your mouth. He tasted salty and sweet and you swallowed every drop he gave you. When he was done you licked him clean, making satisfied sounds to let him know how much you loved the taste of him, and when you were finished he shuddered as you gave the sensitive tip a little kiss.

When you came back up he was sitting with his head back and his eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes and brought his head up he looked dazed and you laughed.

“Holy shit,” he said, breathless. “That was incredible. Jesus, woman.”

You leaned in and nibbled on his earlobe before you whispered, “Anything for my man.”

“I don’t know if I can even drive right now,” he said.

“Well, get your shit together and meet me at my place,” you said. “We’re not finished.”

The whole ride home in your car all you could think about was the look on Jeremy’s face when he had that kid pinned to the wall – the way his nostrils flared, the cold, hard look in his eyes as he spat his words out. And those arms. You wanted him to pin you against a wall with those arms and fuck you senseless. As much as you wanted him to make slow, sweet love to you, your mind was filled with thoughts of him dominating you and taking you rough. You were so lost in the fantasy you ran a stop sign a few blocks from your place and almost got in an accident. You should have cared but you didn’t.

You beat Jeremy there and when you entered your apartment you decided to take a quick shower and change your clothes. You were covered in spilled drinks and sweat and just generally felt disgusting so you ran into the shower and gave yourself a quick body wash. You heard the doorbell ring as you went to turn off the water. You scrambled for your towel and ran to the door to let him in. You were still dripping wet and when you opened the door and the rush of night air the hit you, you shivered and your nipples hardened immediately (though they probably would have anyway because the way he looked at you when he saw you in a towel was practically animal).

“Get your ass in here. I’m freezing,” you said.

He came in and closed the door behind him. You were headed toward your bedroom when he called out to you.

“I hope you’re not thinking of putting on clothes.”

You turned around and smiled.

“I was, actually,” you said. “Tonight was brutal. I really want to sit and have a drink.”

“You don’t need clothes for that,” he said.

You ended up lounging on the couch in your towel with a tumbler of whiskey in your hand while Jeremy gave you a foot rub. You hated feet, and you’d tried to stop him, but the second his strong hands started to work their magic it felt too good to resist.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you said.

“I told you you’d like it.”

“I’ll never doubt you again,” you said, and took a sip of your drink.

You were zoned out, enjoying the massage and the buzz from the whiskey, when you felt him move his hands up your calves. Instinctively you clamped your legs closed. He looked at you with a pouty face and puppy dog eyes.

“Come on,” he said. “Lemme see.”

You smiled coyly at him and shook your head and he laughed.

“Really?” he said. “You just sucked me off in my pickup and now you’re gonna play hard to get?”

“I’m a woman,” you said. “We’re fickle.”

He just chuckled and shook his head and you decided it was time to play a little game.

“If you want it so bad,” you said, “why don’t you just take it?”

He raised an eyebrow at you and you smiled.

“Oh,” he said. “I get it now.” He started to move toward you on the couch. “I got you all hot and bothered at the bar and now you want it rough.”

“Maybe,” you said.

“How do you want it?” he asked. He was practically on top of you now. “You want me to bend you over this couch?”

Your eyes traveled to the hallway leading to the bedroom.

“Oh,” he said. “I know what you want.”

“What do I want?” you asked.

“You want it up against the wall, don’t you?”

You nodded and bit your lip.

“Well, my woman gets what she wants,” he said, and he ripped your towel open.

“God damn,” he said, taking in the sight of you. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

He hoisted you up by your arms and walked you backward toward the hallway, ripping his shirt off on the way, and when you reached the far wall he pushed you into it – gently, but with enough force to shake the picture frame hanging a few feet away. The plaster was cold against your bare ass but his body was warm in front of you. You could feel his cock through his jeans, hard against your body, and he looked at you with lust in his eyes. But you wanted him angry. It was bad and it was wrong and it was almost definitely too soon, but you needed it. You decided to test his limits.

You mustered up all the strength you had and shoved him off you, sending him stumbling backward against the opposite wall. He looked at you, confused for a minute, and you stared him down, daring him to play along. You thought for a moment you’d gone too far too fast, but then you saw it click in his head. He came at you and grabbed your shoulders, slamming you back against the wall. You pretended to struggle but your body was screaming for him to hold you tighter.

“Get the fuck off me,” you said.

He grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head, pushing his body into you while you squirmed against him.

“Shut your mouth,” he said.

His voice was hard and cold, and his eyes were a steely gray. You’d forgotten he was an actor, but the transformation was so complete you were almost scared of him and you knew he was a good one.

“Make me,” you said, and he silenced you with a bruising kiss.

He kept one hand on your wrists and brought the other around to your ass, digging his fingers hard into your flesh. You brought your leg up and wrapped it around him, pulling him closer to you. He pulled out of the kiss and barked an order at you.

“Turn around and keep your hands on the wall.”

He took a step back and spun you around before shoving you forward.

“Don’t fuckin’ move,” he said, and you could hear the sound of his belt unbuckling and his pants hitting the floor. You smiled as you heard the condom wrapper crinkle and tear.

“Spread your legs,” he said, and you did, a little, but you knew they weren’t wide enough.

“Wider,” he said, louder now, and he took his knee and forced your leg further to the side.

You were already wet and ready for him, and you knew he knew it, but he tested you anyway. He ran his fingers across your wet slit and you moaned when you felt him push two of them up inside of you. He removed them and you felt the head of his cock playing at your entrance. You pushed your ass back into it but he slammed you forward again.

“Beg for it,” he said.

“Give it to me, Jeremy.”

“Like you mean it,” he said. He grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head all the way back and you saw the look in his eyes. He was getting into it, and you were throbbing with need. “Beg.”

“I want it,” you pleaded. “I need it. I need your big, fat cock inside me. Fuck me, Jeremy. Please.”

He let go of your hair and grabbed your shoulder as he positioned himself at your entrance, and with one hard thrust he was buried to the hilt inside you. He brought both hands to your hips and gripped you firm as he fucked you mercilessly and you cried out and clawed at the wall. He took his hands off your hips and brought them down hard on your ass before squeezing handfuls of it as he quickened his pace. You gasped when you felt him smack you.

“You want more?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He kept one hand planted firmly on one side before giving you a few quick lashes on the other. The pain was exquisite and you started to reach down to touch yourself when he grabbed your hand and threw it back up against the wall.

“I said keep your fuckin’ hands on the wall.”

He reached around and started working your clit in hard circles as he fucked you. He was relentless and rough and it was almost painful but in under a minute you were having the most intense orgasm of your life. When he felt your pussy start to flex he leaned over and bit your shoulder – hard enough to leave a mark, but not hard enough to draw blood. He grunted as you came screaming and made you say his name over and over. He fucked you right through it – never slowing, never stopping – and when you reached the point where you thought you could take no more he pulled out and turned you around to face him. You were breathless and your legs were jelly and you stumbled and fell backward onto the wall. He walked toward you, pinning you with his body, and kissed you. It was hard at first but it changed somewhere along the way – still deep but more passionate. He was done playing the game, and so were you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck to hold yourself up and he cupped your ass before lifting you up to his waist. You wrapped your legs around him tight and he lowered you slowly down onto his cock, still hard and waiting for its release. You must have made a sound that sounded like pain because he stopped.

“You OK?” His eyes were filled with concern. You smiled and nodded and he looked relieved as he continued. You knew he was aching to come and you wanted him to get there.

He took you up against the wall but it wasn’t rough. His strokes were long and slow and deliberate, and he looked you deep in the eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours. It shouldn’t have been intimate but it was. The way he moaned softly against your lips in between kisses, the way his lip quivered ever so slightly as he felt his climax rising – it was magic. You knew he was close and you wanted him to feel as good as he’d made you feel, and when his rhythm shifted and you knew he was on the verge you put your lips to his ear and whispered.

“I’m yours.”

He came gripping you tight with your name on his lips, and when he was spent he slumped forward and let your legs fall gently to the floor. He leaned against the wall facing you, arms on either side of your head, and you played with the hair at the nape of his neck as you smiled up at him.

“That was… I don’t even know what that was,” he said.

“Did I freak you out?” you asked. You didn’t think so, but you had to make sure.

“No,” he said. “Not at all. I just… Well, that was a first. Let’s put it that way.”

You laughed. “Same. I don’t know what the fuck came over me.”

“I’m pretty sure I came over you, a couple times,” he said, and you laughed. “Now let’s get the fuck into bed because I can barely stand up.”

“Me neither,” you said. “I don’t even know if I can walk.”

“Well then, I did something right,” he said, and he kissed you softly.

You got in bed and turned out the lights and he wrapped himself around you, kissing your back and your neck before letting his head come to rest on your shoulder. It felt so right and so perfect you didn’t know how you’d ever slept without him. You wanted to tell him you loved him but you couldn’t, so you said goodnight instead. You fell asleep to the rhythm of his heart beating calm against your back. 


	6. Chapter 6

The spot next to you in the bed was empty when you woke and you felt a pang of sadness strike you, but as you threw the covers off and made your way to the bathroom you heard sounds emanating from the kitchen. It was 9:00, and Jeremy should have been at work for hours already, but when you made your way to the kitchen he was standing there, barechested in his boxers, holding a mug of coffee. He reached out and handed it to you.

“Black, no sugar,” he said, and he smiled.

You took it from his hands with a puzzled look on your face.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked. “Shouldn’t you be at work already?”

“I called my partner,” he said. “Told him I needed the day off. I used your phone – hope you don’t mind.”

“Do I mind?” you asked. “No, I don’t mind. Are you serious?”

“Yup,” he said. “I’ve been working too fucking much, and besides – I’m sore as shit. One night with you took more out of me than a whole week of work.”

You smiled as you took your first sip of coffee. You had never been so happy, and your mind started racing with all the possibilities of what you could do to fill the day.

“Fuck it,” you said. “I’m calling out, too.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, and he handed you your phone.

After a brief exchange with your boss, in which you feigned righteous indignation about the previous night’s incident, you got the night off – paid – and hung up satisfied. Jeremy had been suppressing laughter the entire time and when you were off the phone he let it out.

“You really are a talented actress,” he said.

“I try,” you replied. “So, what do you want to do today?”

“Whatever you want,” he said. “But first things first.”

He approached you and leaned in for a kiss. “I forgot to say good morning,” he said, and he pressed his lips to yours. It was sweet and tender and the perfect length, and when he pulled away you smiled.

“The best morning,” you said, and you meant it.

You made him breakfast – bacon, eggs, and toast with maple butter – and he shoveled it down. You laughed as you watched him eat and he spoke with his mouth full.

“If I keep dating you I’m gonna get fat as fuck.”

Your heart skipped a beat when he said the word.

“So… we’re dating?” you asked. You didn’t know what your voice was doing. You tried to sound nonchalant but you stumbled over your words. He swallowed and put his fork down, cocking his head a bit and looking at you like you’d just said the world’s most ridiculous thing.

“No, I’m just fucking you and eating all your food,” he said, oozing sarcasm. “Don’t be stupid.”

You smiled. You didn’t know what to say. You stood there with your mouth open like an idiot and he got up from the table and came around behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and leaning down to speak in your ear.

“I told you you’re my woman and I meant it,” he said. “And I’m a one-woman man.”

And that was that. He was your man and you were his woman. It was out there and there was no taking it back, not that you’d want to. It was all you’d wanted since the first night you talked. The fact that it was actually happening was almost surreal, but the time for worrying and wondering was gone. You finished your breakfast with a blissful smile on your face.

“You look happy,” he said.

“You make me happy,” you replied, and he grabbed your hand across the table and kissed it.

You decided to spend the day at the beach. You’d been wanting to go for a while and it was a beautiful day out, if a bit hot. You could use some sun, too. You knew it was bad for you but sunning yourself had become a guilty pleasure since you moved to L.A. and your tan was fading. Jeremy was pleased with the decision.

“You in a bikini all day?” he said. “Yeah, I think I can deal with that. Mind if I jump in the shower real quick?”

“Not at all,” you said. “Fresh towels are in the hall closet. You remember where the hallway is, right?”

“I’ll never forget it as long as I live and breathe,” he said, and he flashed you a naughty grin.

The image of him naked and wet in your shower flooded your mind with wicked thoughts, but you were still pleasantly sore from last night and you needed at least a few hours to recuperate. While he was in the shower you sat on the couch, forcing yourself not to enter the bathroom and get in with him. You needed a shower too, but you would wait. If you joined him in there, you’d never make it out of the house, and you were really looking forward to spending a day with him at the beach. You’d always gone alone, and when you’d see couples walking hand in hand together you found yourself wishing you had someone. Now you did, and he was more than you could have ever hoped for, and you wanted the day to be one to remember.

You were digging through your dresser trying to find your favorite bikini when you heard the water stop. All you could think about was his dripping naked body and you decided a little peek wouldn’t kill you. You crept up to the door and opened it a crack, poking your head around. The room was steamy and your jaw dropped as you saw him standing there, wrapping a towel around his waist and facing the mirror. Your towels were old and thin and you could see a perfect outline of his ass through the fabric. Those little dimples poked out just above the towel, and when he wiped the condensation from the mirror you got a good look at his torso – that patch of chest hair and the treasure trail that led down to your new favorite place. You were mesmerized.

“I can see you in the mirror,” he said without turning around. “Stop lurking and get your ass in here.”

You laughed.

“Sorry,” you said. “Couldn’t help myself.”

He turned around and pulled you in to him. The water still clinging to his chest soaked through your tank top and you felt your nipples harden against him as he held you close.

“I thought you might join me,” he said.  “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“The thought did cross my mind,” you said. That was an understatement. “But I figured if I got in that shower with you, we’d never make it to Santa Monica.”

He laughed and leaned down to kiss you.

“You’re probably right,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“I’ll be quick,” you said, and as he walked toward the door you couldn’t help but give his ass a little smack.

“Don’t tease me, woman.”

You smiled and told him to get out, and you took the quickest shower you could manage while still having to wash your hair and shave. When you got out he was laying on the bed, still in just a towel.

“I just realized I don’t have any clean clothes,” he said.

He looked kind of upset, and you could tell it bothered him to have to wear the same thing. You smiled at him, trying to soothe him and think of a solution when you remembered you had something he could borrow. You started digging through your closet and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of swim trunks. He looked at you strangely as you handed them to him and you realized he must think they belonged to some guy you’d brought home.

“They’re my brother’s,” you said. “From when he visited. He forgot a whole bunch of shit. I think he’d forget his ass if it wasn’t attached to him.”

“Oh,” he said. “OK, thanks. I thought maybe…” He trailed off.

“Do you really think I would give you some random guy’s clothes to wear?” It was your turn to look incredulous. “Now who’s the stupid one? Besides, I don’t do randoms. I haven’t been with anyone since college. Feel better now?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you just say you haven’t been with anyone since college?”

“Yup.”

“So it’s been…”

You stopped him. “Please don’t make me think about how long it’s been. It’s horribly depressing.”

He started laughing and you swatted him on the shoulder.

“Shut up,” you said. “It’s not funny. It’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic,” he said, suddenly more serious. “I like that you don’t fuck around. I like that you’re the type of woman who waits for someone she cares about. It means a lot to me, actually. That you think I’m worth it.”

You smiled and looked down at him. You knew you had love in your eyes but you didn’t try to hide it. “You’re beyond worth it,” you said, and you kissed him.

He threw on your brother’s clothes, which fit him surprisingly well, and you forced yourself not to watch him dress as you continued to search for your bikini. When you finally found it and threw it on the bed you heard him whistle behind you. You looked at him over your shoulder and gave him a sexy smirk and he ran a hand through his hair.

“You can’t wear that,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked.

“Because I’m gonna be walking around with a hard-on all fuckin’ day.”

You smiled. “You’ll just have to control yourself,” you said. “Now get out and let me change in peace.”

“Let me watch,” he said. “Please?”

“No,” you said, and you pushed him out the door. “I am determined to make it out of this bedroom today. Go.”

He gave you the puppy dog face and it almost worked, but you held strong, and after throwing on your bikini and a sun dress, you grabbed a beach bag out of the closet. It was still sandy from the last time you used it and your sunscreen was still in there, but you removed the book and the magazine. This time you’d have someone to talk to. You wouldn’t be alone. You didn’t bother with makeup. You’d fuck it up with the sunscreen anyway, and something told you Jeremy wouldn’t mind.

You’d been stuck on the 405 for a half hour when you felt your patience start to wear thin.

“I will never get used to the traffic in this city,” you said, and you laid your hand on the horn as some asshole in a Bentley cut you off.

“OH, BECAUSE THIS LANE IS MOVING SOOOOOOO MUCH FASTER. FUCKING COCKSUCKER.”

You were screaming at no one and Jeremy was laughing at you.

“Shut the fuck up,” you said, but he wouldn’t stop.

“Road rage looks good on you,” he said, and he placed his hand on your thigh.

It wasn’t sexual – just a small, calming gesture – and it worked as well as anything could have when you were stuck in 90-degree heat amidst the exhaust fumes on the freeway. You loved the feel of his rough hands on your skin, the way he knew just when and where to place them to make you feel like you were his and his alone. You resigned yourself to the traffic and just enjoyed his company as you inched your way toward Santa Monica, and when you got there and started walking towards the beach you were so excited that the epic drive was already a forgotten memory.

“I love the smell of the ocean,” you said as you helped Jeremy lay out the beach towels. “I love everything about the beach. I grew up with swimming holes and above ground pools. I always used to dream about living near the ocean.”

“Well, here you are,” he said. “Your dream has come true.”

You looked over at him and he smiled as he whipped his shirt off. He had no idea how right he was.

“Now why don’t you make my dream come true and take off that dress,” he said. “I’m more than happy to help you with your lotion, too.”

“You’re terrible today,” you said.

“You like it,” he replied.

And you did. You liked the way he looked at you when you shed your sundress. There was a hint of lust there, yes, but there was also a look of wonderment in his eyes as they followed your every move. He was looking at you the way you looked at him when you thought he couldn’t see you – when he stole your breath away and made your stomach flutter. The way you looked at him when you wanted to tell him you loved him. You smiled at him and tossed him the lotion.

“Have at it, stud.”

The way his hands felt massaging the lotion into your skin was divine, and even though you could have managed the back of your legs yourself, you let him do it for you. He made sure to hit every spot around your ass and as his fingers started to travel under the fabric of your bikini bottoms you looked down at him over your shoulder.

“There are children present,” you said.

“So I guess that means you won’t let me do your front, then?”

You would have loved nothing more than to have him slather your tits with sunscreen and rub you all over but you just laughed and grabbed the bottle from him.

“No,” you said. “But you can watch.”

You knew it was mean but you loved to tease him. You squirted the lotion straight onto your chest and rubbed it in every nook and cranny. You could feel his eyes on you as you worked it into your skin and over the crash of the waves you swore you could hear him gasp. You did your arms and your legs and your stomach, and when you were through you turned to put the lotion away and saw him laying prone on his towel, facing the ocean with his chin propped up on his hands.

“Do my back,” he said, and you gladly obliged.

His muscles felt strong under your hands as you worked the lotion into him and he moaned underneath your touch. You took special care with his lower back, protecting those little dimples you loved so much. When you finished he groaned with displeasure.

“Fuck, that felt good,” he said. “You’ve got the magic touch.”

“Maybe if you’re a good boy today, you’ll get a massage later. Here,” you said, handing him the lotion. “Do your front.”

He chuckled. “That might have to wait,” he said. “Remember that hard-on we discussed earlier?”

“Oh Jesus, really?”

“Yes,” he said. “Really.”

It wasn’t too long before Jeremy got himself together enough to lie back with you and enjoy the sun. The sound and smell of the ocean and the sunlight beaming down on you was relaxing, and having him next to you was even better. You had just started to zone out when you heard your phone ring.

“Fuck, this better not be my boss,” you said, reaching into the beach bag. “Oh God. Even worse. It’s my mother. I’m not picking up.”

You ignored the call and threw your phone back in your bag and when you went to lie back down you saw Jeremy sitting up and looking at you. You could tell he was curious but didn’t want to pry.

“I just can’t listen to her shit right now,” you said. “I don’t want anything to ruin this day.”

“She’s pretty hard on you, huh?” He sounded genuinely sad about it, and you found yourself starting to rant.

“She just doesn’t get me,” you said. “She’s clinging to this fantasy of me still living back home and becoming a doctor or a lawyer or some shit. I never wanted that. And the fact that my brother is their golden child doesn’t help. He’s in law school and whenever he’s home they parade him around like a fucking show pony. It’s not his fault, though. He just happened to want the same things they wanted for him. I didn’t.”

“You really are alone out here, aren’t you?” he asked. He looked so sad.

“Yeah,” you replied. “It’s been hard. Sometimes I think she wants me to fail just so I’ll come back.”

He reached out and took your hand in his.

“Well, you’re not alone anymore,” he said, “and you’re not going to fail.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt supported, cared for, even loved. You felt like he understood you, and it made you forget all the stress and pressures from your family. You smiled, and as you both lay back soaking up the sun, he held your hand in the sand between the towels. You flipped over after a while to keep your tan even and when you did you looked over at him and he was staring at your ass, smiling. You let it go without commentary. He could stare all he wanted.

You hadn’t planned on falling asleep but before you knew it you felt his hands poking the back of your leg.

“You’re getting red, peaches,” he said. “We should get out of the sun for a bit. You wanna go to the Pier?”

You turned to him lazily and smiled. “You read my mind.”

You ended up walking along the edge of the water towards Santa Monica pier, your shoes in one hand and the other gripped tightly in his. The water was cold as the tide ebbed and flowed but it felt nice on your skin. It was hot as hell outside and the ocean breeze and the chill of the water were refreshing. You realized you’d become one of those couples you’d always envied, walking along together in silence, taking in the beauty of your surroundings and just enjoying each other. It filled you with a serenity that you hadn’t felt in a long time, maybe ever.

When you got to the pier you felt your stomach rumble and you decided to grab a bite and some water to rehydrate.

“Oooooh, funnel cake,” you said. “Can we?”

“You get whatever you want, mama,” he said. “But I think I’m gonna go for some cookie dough ice cream.”

You split up to get your food and when you met back up you’d already downed half your cake. When he saw you he laughed.

“You have powdered sugar all over your face,” he said.

“Comes with the territory,” you replied, wiping your face with your arm. “Worth it.”

“You missed a spot,” he said, and he leaned in and kissed your upper lip, licking it a bit to get at the sugar still clinging there. When he pulled away he smiled.

“Delicious.”

His ice cream cone was melting down his hand in the hot sun and you had to stop yourself from grabbing it and licking his fingers clean. A little kiss was one thing, but sucking his fingers in the middle of the pier was a bit over your line. You just laughed at him while he tried to clean up the mess with his napkin.

“You’re a mess,” you said.

“Worth it,” he replied, and as he licked around the base of the scoop to keep it from dripping you stared at his tongue, dreaming about what it might do to you later.

“I can’t watch you do that,” you said. “It’s like porn.”

He winked at you and grinned. “Later, peaches. Later.”

You ended up at the aquarium, feeding the sea stars. You felt like a little kid in there, playing around with the animals and giggling when you touched them. He watched you, a gentle smile on his face, and when you went to see the seahorses swimming he stood at your back, his arms wrapped around your waist with his head perched on your shoulder.

“You’re glowing,” he said.

“I’m having fun,” you replied. “It’s been a while since I did something like this. I mean, I’ve been here, but never with someone else. It’s different. Much better.”

“I’m happy you chose me,” he said, and he kissed your cheek.

You heard the little kid next to you go “EEEEEEEW” and you laughed.

“We should go,” you said. “I want to ride the Ferris wheel. That’s one thing I’ve never done.”

“Your wish is my command,” he said, and you left the aquarium with his arm around your shoulder.

The sun was starting to go down as you waited on line for the Ferris wheel. It was lit up in a rainbow of colors and you couldn’t wait to get on. It was massive and it dominated the skyline of the pier. You’d always dreamed about the view from the top but you’d never gone. Something about riding a Ferris wheel by yourself, or worse being put with a stranger, made you feel so alone. But with Jeremy next to you, just as excited as you were, you felt giddy. You were bouncing up and down by the time it was almost your turn and he laughed at you.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he said. “Seeing you at the bar I never would have guessed you’d turn into a five-year-old waiting for a ride at an amusement park.”

“What can I say?” you said. “Some things bring out the kid in me. I’m not completely jaded. Not yet, anyway.”

“Never change,” he said. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

You’d forgotten to bring an extra layer and as the sun set it was starting to get a bit chilly. Jeremy saw you shivering and gave you his jacket.

“Here, take this, you’re freezing.”

“Thanks,” you said, and you slipped it on. The smell of him enveloped you. It was massive on you but it felt amazing.

“I can see why you never take this thing off,” you said. “It’s super comfy.”

“I like seeing you in it,” he said. “I’m starting to have impure thoughts again.”

You swatted him on the shoulder.

“Behave, young man,” you said, and he grinned.

“Not a chance.”

It was your turn to board and Jeremy got in first, taking your hand as you hoisted yourself up into the passenger car. You were forced to sit across from each other for balance but once you neared the top he said, “Fuck it,” and came and sat next to you. He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close, and with the sun setting on the horizon the sky was lit up a blazing orange and pink.

“This is so beautiful,” you said.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he replied, and he kissed you.

You felt it everywhere. He cupped your face, his fingers grazing the back of your neck, and you got goose bumps. It was the kind of thing you would have rolled your eyes at – so clichéd, so storybook romance – but the reality of it made you realize why the cliché existed in the first place. It was the single most perfect kiss you’d ever had, and you wanted to tell him you loved him right then and there. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were a ballsy woman, always had been, but you needed the man to say it first. You couldn’t bear it if you said it and he didn’t respond in kind.

It was dark by the time the ride was over and you headed back home. The traffic was much lighter on the way back and you were able to enjoy the ride. You even got Jeremy to sing to you when Journey came on the radio. You’d wanted just to listen to him and his perfect voice but he made you sing along, and before you knew it you were shouting out the lyrics to “Don’t Stop Believing,” driving way over the speed limit and bopping around in your seat. You were giggling like an idiot by the time you pulled into your driveway.

“You hungry?” you asked as you entered your place.

“Always,” he said.

“I haven’t got much right now but I think I can rustle up the makings of some grilled cheese.”

“Perfect,” he said, and you started to gather all the necessary items.

You were happy you still had some Gruyère in the fridge. You’d always preferred it to cheddar or Swiss. You made two for him and one for you and when you sat down and he took a bite he made that sex sound he always made when your cooking hit his taste buds.

“Fuck,” he said (mouth full as always), “how do you make grilled cheese taste this good?”

“Practice,” you replied.

“The last time I had a grilled cheese, I made it on a piece of aluminum foil on the hood of my truck.”

You laughed. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” he said.

“Well, that’s ingenuity at its best. I’ll give you that.”

“It was a better idea in theory,” he said, and he finished his second sandwich before you’d even finished your first.

You were cleaning up when you felt him come up behind you and push your hair aside. He kissed the nape of your neck and you let out a little gasp.

“What are you doing?” you asked, but you knew. You’d been waiting for it since the second you saw him half naked in your bathroom that morning.

“I’m taking what I want,” he said, and you dropped the spatula you’d been cleaning and turned to face him.

He took you in his arms and kissed you, slowly at first but building to an urgency that told you he wanted you – desperately and completely – and you wanted him too. He took your hand and led you wordlessly to the bedroom.

You were still wearing your bikini and sundress and when you removed your top layer and started in on the bathing suit he stopped you.

“Lie down,” he said. “I’ve been waiting all day to take that thing off of you.”

You were lying on the bed in your suit as he stared at you before discarding his shirt. He crawled onto the bed and you sat up as he brought his hands around to the string tied together at your back. He undid the knot slowly, and when he got it undone he peeled off your top and licked his lips.

“God damn, I love your tits,” he said, and he cupped them gently as he moved his mouth from one to the other and back again a few times. He sucked and nipped at each nipple, hard in his hot mouth, and when he’d take his lips away he would blow a little bit of air onto you, sending shivers running through your body. You could feel yourself getting wetter the more attention he lavished on your breasts and, amazing as it felt, you wanted to feel his tongue somewhere else. But you could tell he was enjoying it, and the way he was worshipping every inch of you made it worth the wait.

He finally took his mouth off of you and kissed you before moving to the edge of the bed and burying his face between your legs. You could feel his breath hot against you through the fabric and he smiled as he looked up at you.

“This is all I’ve been thinking about doing all day,” he said, and he started to undo the string on one side with his teeth. He pulled it slow and deliberate and the anticipation was killing you in the best possible way. He stared you in the eyes the whole time, and when one side was free he kissed your hipbone before repeating his actions on the other. It was so fucking hot, and you ached to feel his tongue on you, but you knew he’d been thinking about this, playing it over in his mind while he watched you on the beach, and you let him have what he wanted.

You were finally free from your bottoms and he removed them and tossed them to the floor. He let his hands roam up and down your inner thighs before pulling you down toward him. His mouth was so close but he kept a bit of distance and when you looked down at him he smiled.

“Don’t tease me,” you said, and he laughed.

“Don’t worry, peaches. I’m gonna lick you like an ice cream cone.”

He buried his head between your legs and started lapping at you slowly, bottom to top, and you moaned when he finally made contact. His tongue was long and slightly pointed and he knew exactly what to do with it. Your clit was throbbing for attention but he was building you up slowly, teasing you open with the tip as he massaged your thighs. When he pushed his tongue inside you and swirled you moaned his name, both with pleasure and with need. He kept it inside you for a while, moving it around and savoring the taste of you, before finally bringing his lips to your clit. But he wasn’t done toying with you. He kissed it – once, twice, three times – and the pauses in between seemed like an eternity. When he finally started to lick it you almost exploded. You cried out and grabbed your breasts, squeezing them hard and twisting your nipples while he swirled and flicked his tongue. You still didn’t know how the fuck he did it, but he managed some combination of tongue and lips and moans that drove you right to the edge. You wouldn’t have minded them, but you didn’t even need his fingers this time. You came with his mouth pressed hard against you, and he ran his big hands over your stomach as you shook and shuddered.

You were panting and aching for more when he came up and kissed you deep, his hard length digging into your stomach as he grinded against you slowly. When he pulled away you held his head in your hands and whispered.

“Make love to me.”

“Say it again,” he said.

“Make love to me, Jeremy.”

And he did – slow, sweet, and tender. He held your face in his hands as he stroked long and languid, dotting your face with kisses as you moaned underneath him. You wrapped your legs so tightly around him that you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began, and the sound of his voice so soft in your ear, whispering your name, telling you how good you felt, was enough to bring you close.

“Sit up,” he said. His voice was gentle, not commanding, and you did as he asked.

He sat, legs stretched out in front of him, and you got on his lap, lowering yourself onto him slowly before wrapping your legs around him. He held you tight to his chest as you rocked together back and forth, a tangle of arms and legs and lips moving together in a perfect rhythm. He was buried inside you so deep and he placed his hands on your hips, moving with you as you started grinding a little harder against him, your clit craving more contact to achieve release. You found it, and he moaned as you came in slow waves around him. You threw your head back as he clutched you tight and kissed up your neck, and you felt his thighs start to tense underneath you. You knew he was close, too, and you brought your head back up and pressed your forehead to his as you moved a little faster, sliding up and down the length of him as you buried your hands in his hair and pulled on it gently.

“Oh God,” he said, and that was it.

He looked you in the eyes as he came, his mouth open and his bottom lip trembling as he huffed out a few sharp breaths. It was beautiful, and you sat wrapped up together for a while, just breathing against each other’s skin and listening to your hearts beating. There was nothing to be said just then. There was no need for words when your bodies had spoken for you. When you could finally tear yourselves away from each other he kissed you and you felt a surge of warmth flow through your whole body. You looked up at him with a lazy smile before letting him go.

He had to leave that night. You’d known that all day, but it was fine. You couldn’t have asked for anything more than what you’d been given. It was a perfect day, and though you slept alone in your bed that night, part of him was still with you – mind, body, and soul. 


	7. Chapter 7

The past two weeks had been crazy for both of you. You were working almost every night and auditioning during the day; he was hard at work on the house, which was nearing completion. But you made your time together count. When he could, he’d end his day at the bar and come home with you, although it wasn’t near as often as you’d like. If it were up to you, you’d be spending every night together – cooking dinner, watching movies, rolling around together in bed and falling asleep in each other’s arms. But that just wasn’t in the cards, and you accepted it knowing that, if he could, he would be there every minute. But you wanted more of him. You were starting to feel a little strange about the fact that you’d never seen where he lived, and on top of that, he still hadn’t said those three words you’d been longing to hear.

It wasn’t that you thought he was hiding something. You understood why he never invited you over – he didn’t want you to see the way he lived, he didn’t want to bring you into that cold, dark space where he spent most of his nights. He’d been embarrassed at first, but you knew that at this point it was more about your comfort. You loved him for that, but you didn’t care about any of it. You wanted him to let you in, to understand that you loved all the parts of him. It upset you that he still didn’t get it or that, if he did, something was still holding him back. Maybe it was why he hadn’t told you he loved you – at least, you hoped that was why.

You decided it was time to broach the subject. You’d been holding back for too long, waiting for him to bring it up, but he hadn’t, and you knew if you didn’t talk to him it was just going to fester inside you until it erupted into something ugly. That’s the last thing you wanted to happen. Things were going so well, and though you were nervous about the conversation, it was one that needed to happen if you were going to move forward together.

It had been a slow night at the bar, and you were grateful for that because you spent most of your shift agonizing over what you were going to say and how you were going to say it. You knew he was coming by before close and planning on spending the night with you, and you dreaded the worst-case scenario: upsetting him, making him uncomfortable, getting in a fight about it and ending up alone in your bed that night, unable to sleep and wondering where the hell to go from here.

The bar was empty when he walked in. He was all smiles, but you felt your stomach turn. You grabbed him a beer and one for yourself as he took his regular spot in the corner. You’d already had a shot of whiskey to try to calm your nerves, but it hadn’t worked, and he could tell you were nervous. He could read you like a book by now, and you knew there was no avoiding it. You’d made the decision, and terrified as you were, you had to follow through. You greeted him with a smile and a kiss but he knew there was something bubbling under the surface.

“I know that look,” he said. “Something’s up with you. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I need to talk to you.” You tried to keep your voice firm and steady but you knew you sounded upset.

His brow furrowed and he looked at you with concern in his eyes, but there was a tinge of worry there, too. He took a swig of his beer and set it aside.

“What’s on your mind?”

You could see the gears turning in his head, and if you’d reached out and touched him you knew you’d feel his heart beating fast in his chest, but he managed to keep his face calm and collected. You didn’t know how the fuck he did that. You wished you could do the same. You looked at him and steeled yourself up to begin.

“I hate to do this,” you said, “but I just have to.” You paused to take a sip of your beer. “These past few weeks have been so wonderful but there’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a while. I feel like… I don’t know. I’m just so happy with you and I don’t want to fuck it up but…”

You lost your words. You’d been over and over it in your head, but with him in front of you, his eyes searching you, you completely blanked.

“I think I know what this is about,” he said, and he took a sip of his beer. “You’re wondering why I haven’t brought you to the house.”

You were relieved that he’d said it, but you knew you weren’t done. You let out a nervous laugh.

“Am I really that obvious?”

He smiled. “Well, yes,” he said, “but that’s not it. I’ve been thinking about it, too. Don’t think I haven’t been.”

“Then what the fuck?” you said, and he sighed.

“I want to show you the house. I do. We’re almost done and it’s looking really great, actually. It’s just…” He paused, searching for the right way to phrase his reservations. “I just don’t want to show you _my_ part of the house. I can’t do it. I’ve thought about it a hundred times, but I just can’t.”

“Why?” you asked. “It’s not like I don’t know. I’ve known from the start and I don’t give a shit. How fucking thick are you that you don’t get that by now?”

“I do get it,” he said. “I really do. It’s not about you. I would feel… I don’t know… dirty taking you there. Well, maybe dirty isn’t the right word, but you know what I mean.”

“No,” you said. “I don’t know what you mean. That’s why I’m asking. I want to understand.”

He ran his hands through his hair and rested them on the back of his neck as he stared down at his beer. He was silent for a moment and your pulse was racing waiting for him to answer. He didn’t look at you when he started to speak.

“You don’t belong in a place like that,” he said. “It’s cold and dark and filthy. There’s no water, no power, and it’s just… I can’t bring you there.”

“Look at me,” you said, and you lifted his head by the chin. “I don’t care about any of that. What I care about is that there’s a part of your life that you’re not showing me. I need you to let me in. I need you to understand that shutting me out is so much worse to me than some dirty room you sleep in.”

He looked at you and you could see it click in his head.

“I never thought about it that way,” he said. “Fuck, now I feel even worse.”

“Don’t,” you said. “Just let me in. That’s all I want. Stop making it this huge thing in your head and just fucking do it. You’ll feel better. We both will.”

He looked down and sighed, and you could tell he was trying to wrap his mind around the idea. You placed your hand on his and waited for him to speak. You’d said your piece; now he had to make his decision. He placed his other hand on top of yours and looked up at you.

“OK,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

“Really?” you asked. As much as you’d hoped he would agree, a large part of you thought he never would.

“Yes, really, but not tonight. I want to show it to you when it’s light out and you can actually see it, and I want to at least clean it up a little bit. Is that OK?”

You smiled and leaned over the bar. “Absolutely,” you said, and planted a gentle kiss on his lips.

When you got back to your place you were happy but you could tell he was still thinking about it. He was distracted, playing it out in his head, probably going through the worst-case scenario and resigning himself to it, the way you always did. You knew you needed to soothe him and reassure him that it would be fine. You came up behind him on the couch and started to massage his shoulders. He was all knotted up and tense as fuck and he groaned when you started to work out his kinks.

“I want you to stop thinking about it,” you said, kneading away at his shoulders. “Just relax. It will be fine, I swear.”

“Well, this is certainly helping me to relax,” he said. “That feels so fucking good. Don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” you said, and you continued to work his neck and shoulders.

When you were through with that you told him to lie flat and take off his shirt so you could work out his back.

“I told you if you were a good boy you’d get a massage,” you said, planting yourself on his ass and working his back from bottom to top.

He groaned as you put your elbow into an especially nasty knot and worked it in hard, deep circles. It took a while, but you finally managed to loosen him up, and you’d enjoyed every second of it. His bare back was so fucking sexy – sculpted without being overly muscular – and your panties were drenched by the time you’d finished.

“Fuck,” he said when you got off of him. “If I knew I’d get that kind of treatment I’d have brought you to my place ages ago. God damn, woman.”

He sat up on the couch and you smiled. He was starting to warm up to the idea and it made you happy. You wanted to do something else for him to show just how grateful you were. You straddled his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Anything else I can do to help you relax?” you said. You were using that sultry tone you knew pushed all his buttons. “I’ll do anything you want.”

He looked up at you, bringing his hands around to your ass, and smiled. “Anything?”

“Mhmm,” you replied, and you bit your lip. You knew he liked that, and you could feel just how much as he started to harden beneath you. “Tell me what you want.”

“Well, there’s this one thing,” he said. He looked a little hesitant but you could tell he was yearning for something. “I think about it sometimes. You know, alone, at night…”

The thought of him jerking off to some fantasy of you made your pussy ache and you wanted more than anything to know what it was. You leaned over and nipped at his earlobe and he moaned as you whispered in his ear.

“Tell me.”

“I want you to dance for me,” he said. “Some nights I see you at the bar and some song is playing and you start moving your hips a little – I don’t even think you know you’re doing it, but it’s so fucking sexy.”

You smiled. “You want a lap dance, baby?”

“Oh God, yes,” he said, and he gripped your ass harder.

“Well, my man gets what he wants,” you said. You got off him and leaned over, giving him a little kiss. You could see his cock straining against his jeans.

“Give me five minutes,” you said, and you went to the bedroom to change.

You didn’t have much in the way of sexy lingerie but you did have one thing you thought might do the trick – a black lacy bra that you could see right through and a matching barely-there thong. You slipped on some sheer black knee-highs and a pair of heels and took your hair down. You looked in the mirror, checking all your angles, and smiled. It would serve his purposes quite nicely. You grabbed your iPod out of your purse and scrolled through, looking for the perfect song, something you could really get in to. You wanted to give him a good show, something even better than his fantasy.

You found it almost immediately – “Pony” by Ginuwine – and you smiled thinking about how many times you’d danced around to that song when you were alone, cleaning your condo or just fucking around because you were bored. You’d never dreamed about using it to give a lap dance in your living room to the sexiest fucking man you’d ever laid eyes on, but once the idea popped into your head, it seemed like the song had been written just for that moment.

You headed towards the living room and saw him start to turn around when he heard your heels click down the hallway, but you stopped him.

“Eyes front, and close them,” you said.

You strode toward him, slowly and purposefully, building the anticipation with each click of your heel on the wooden floor. You put your iPod on the dock and cued up the song, and when the base started bumping you stepped in front of him.

“Open up,” you said. Your voice was oozing sex, and the second he saw you his eyes damn near popped out of his head and he gasped.

“Sweet fucking Christ,” he said, and his hand went straight up to touch you. You swatted it away.

“No touching,” you said, and you started to move.

He sat back, arms draped across the back of the couch on either side of him, just watching you. He looked awestruck as his eyes followed the sway of your hips and your arms and it made you feel like a goddess. You were already into it, but the way he was hanging on your every move made you lose what little inhibitions you had left. You stood in between his legs, kicking them open a little wider, and slowly bent forward at the waist, reaching down to your ankles and dragging your hands up slowly over your body and into your hair as you stood back up. You never took your eyes off his, and his eyes never strayed from your body, and when you reached down and toyed with the straps of your bra you saw him lick his lips. You took them down slowly, one at a time, and turned around.

When he got his first look at your ass, he moaned and begged you to let him touch you but you shook your head as you reached around and unclasped your bra. You peeled it off and took it between two fingers, letting it drop to the floor next to you, but you waited before turning around to reveal yourself to him. You popped your booty to the beat, slipping your thumbs down under the thin string of the thong at your hips, and you dragged it down just the tiniest bit as you looked over your shoulder at him. His mouth was open and he was stroking his cock through his jeans, and as much as you loved to tease him, you wanted to give him the contact you knew he craved.

You turned around and got down on your knees in front of him, taking his hand and placing it back on the couch before running your hands from his knees up his thighs. When your palm grazed the swell of his cock he hissed and threw his head back, and you gave it another few strokes for good measure before you turned back around and sat in his lap. You braced yourself on his thighs and you could feel his muscles flexing under you as you rolled your hips in time to the beat. You could hear him panting behind you and you felt his breath hot on your back as you continued to move, savoring the feel of his rock-hard length beneath you. You arched back against his chest, letting your head rest on his shoulder, and you moved your hands up into his hair as you grinded down on him. His eyes were closed and he was flexing his fingers open and closed – dying to put his hands on you but following the orders you’d given him. You pulled his hair a little and he looked at you, his eyes pleading to you to let him touch you, and you decided he’d been a good boy, and he deserved his reward.

You brought his hands off the couch and placed them on your breasts and he bucked a little when he felt your nipples, hard against his palms. He took them between his fingers, pinching and twisting as you writhed on top of him. You’d been silent till then, but that brought a deep moan to your lips.

“You are so fucking hot,” he said, breathless.

“Is this what you wanted?” you asked, and you pushed down harder on top of him. You knew it was all he’d wanted and more.

“Fuck, yes,” he said, and he moved his hand down into your panties. You were dripping wet and he groaned as he felt you, slick on his fingers.

You let him play with your pussy for a minute but when you felt yourself starting to lose control you took his hand away and stood up. You gave him a sexy smile before turning around and bending at the waist, sticking your ass in his face and taking your thong down painfully slow. You let it drop to the floor and stepped out of it, and he moaned before bringing his hand up to run his fingers across your wet slit. He slipped a finger inside you and you pushed back against it, and when he added the second one you reached down and grabbed your ankles. You lost yourself for a moment as he finger-fucked you, but you remembered what you were supposed to be doing and you stood up and took his hand away.

The music was still bumping as you straddled him and started to ride. He grabbed your ass and started pushing and pulling you and he buried his face between your tits. You moaned at the contact of your clit against his cock, still aching for release under his jeans, but you wouldn’t let him undress. You squeezed your tits tight around his face, muffling the moans you could feel against your skin, and when you let go he came up for air grunting and panting like an animal.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come,” he said, and he gripped your hips hard as he started to thrust underneath you.

You rode him hard, gripping his hair and bouncing your tits in his face, and when he came he pulled you tight to him and made an inhuman sound before letting his head fall forward onto your shoulder. You felt him breathing hot and heavy on your skin, and when his breath slowed to normal he brought his head up and started to laugh and shake his head. You smiled down at him.

“What?” you asked.

“I haven’t come in my pants like that since I was like fourteen,” he said. “You just rocked my fucking world.”

“Better than your late night fantasies?” you asked.

“Woman, I couldn’t dream up something like that if I tried,” he said, and he pulled you down for a deep kiss. “I gotta go clean myself up, but I owe you big time for that.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you said.

And he didn’t. You were totally satisfied. Seeing him come completely undone like that was almost better than an orgasm. You made your way to the bedroom and threw on a t-shirt and some comfy pants, and when he came out of the bathroom he still had a dopey smile on his face. It made you laugh, and he laughed with you, and you ended up in bed just cuddling for a while.

“I swear I’ll be ready to go again in a minute or two.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I’m completely happy right now. Besides, I’m out of condoms.”

He paused before speaking.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, actually,” he said. “Since we’re, you know, having an honesty night, I figure why the fuck not.”

You turned to face him. “Ask me what?”

“Well, you said you hadn’t been with anyone since college, and I know you’re on the pill because of other stuff, so I just wanted to tell you that I’m, you know, all clear, and if you wanted to… you know… without…” He was fumbling with his words and you thought it was adorable. “I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, I was just wondering…”

You took his face in your hands. “Stop,” you said. “I do. Want to. I just wasn’t sure if you did.”

“I do,” he said. “A lot.” You laughed.

“OK,” you said. “Then we will, but not tonight. That little performance took a lot out of me.”

“You put on an amazing show,” he said, and he kissed you.

“Well, it’s good to know that if the whole acting thing doesn’t work out, I’ve got other career options,” you said, and you laughed to yourself.

You were kidding, but the fear of failure was stuck somewhere behind your words. He looked at you, his face suddenly serious.

“Don’t say that shit,” he said. “It’s not funny. And besides, I want you all to myself.”

“You’ve got me,” you said, and you kissed him goodnight.

Your day off came and you woke up nervous, not because you’d be seeing the house later that day but because you had an early-afternoon audition and you really wanted the part. It was for a small role on a show you fucking loved and you found yourself wanting it more than you should. You knew that it was good to stay hungry and that the more passionate you were about the material, the better you would be, but your nerves were getting the best of you. You had another one of those moments where you wished you could call Jeremy and have him soothe you with his words, but you couldn’t. You ended up pacing around your condo all morning, watching the clock until it was time to leave for the audition. You were gathering your things to leave when your phone rang. It was an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Hey, peaches.”

“Hey,” you said, “whose phone is this?”

“It’s mine,” he said. “We’ve got a buyer for the house. I can officially afford a phone – well, soon enough, anyway. You’re my first call. I wanted to catch you before your audition.”

“Wait, what? How do you have a buyer? I didn’t think it was on the market yet.”

“It’s not,” he said. “I’ll explain later. I just wanted to call and tell you that you’re gonna do great today and that I’m thinking about you.”

You smiled so wide you thought you’d pull a muscle in your face.

“Thanks,” you said. “I needed that. I’ve got to go, though, or I’ll be late.”

“Break a leg,” he said. “I lo-… I mean, uh, I’ll see you later, kay?”

“OK, bye,” you said, and you hung up.

You spent the entire drive to the audition playing that sound over in your head. Did he almost say it? If he was going to say it, why did he stop himself? Or were you just fucking crazy and hearing things? You didn’t know how to feel or what you’d heard by the time you got there, but you knew one thing for sure: you needed to put it out of your mind and focus or you’d be royally fucked. You put your game face on. You’d deal with it later.

The audition went really well and you left pleased and excited, but not overly so. You knew from experience that overconfidence got you nowhere and you couldn’t let yourself get too attached to the idea of getting the role. You turned your focus back to the phone call with Jeremy as you drove down Laurel Canyon. You got horribly turned around, partially because anything residential outside your area tended to confuse you and partially because your full attention was not on the directions. You kept thinking about it – that little sound.

_I lo-_

And then he’d just stopped. It was fucking with your head something fierce and by the time you pulled up to the house you were a befuddled mess. The only thing that snapped you out of it was the sight of the property in front of you. The place was tucked away on a cul-de-sac in the land of obscenely priced real estate and views to die for, and you realized Jeremy and his partner must have put every penny they had into the purchase price and renovations. He was waiting for you outside when you arrived.

“You get lost?” he asked. He should have been covered in filth from working but he looked like he’d cleaned up.

“Horribly,” you said. “It’s so fucking confusing around here. But this place looks incredible.”

“Let me show you around,” he said. He was grinning from ear to ear, with no trace of hesitation, and you smiled back at him.

It was a five-bedroom California Spanish, old Hollywood to the core. They had left the exterior alone, and with the exception of replacing some of the terracotta roof tiles that had been busted up over the years, it looked the same as when it was built in the 20s. The interior, though, had been gutted and completely rebuilt. It was magnificent, and you could see the love and care he’d put into every detail: the wooden beams, the intricate tiling and stenciled ceilings, the gracefully arched doorways, and those little touches that make a house something special. The courtyard was immaculate – tiled and landscaped to perfection – and the terrace off the master bedroom had views of the city that stole your breath.

“This is beautiful,” you said, standing on the terrace and enjoying the view. “You should be really proud of this.”

“I am,” he said. “This is the best part – when it’s done and you can look around and say _I did this_. There are obviously still a few things we need to do – plumbing and electrical shit – but you get the general idea.”

You could barely even speak. You knew he was a hard worker, but you’d never imagined that he had the type of vision it took to create something so absolutely stunning. You loved him so much in that moment and you wanted to say it – to finish the sentence you thought he’d started earlier – but you couldn’t do it. Instead you just agreed when he asked if you wanted to sit out on the terrace and watch the sun set.

He had a cooler full of beer and water. You went for the beer. You were still playing the conversation over in your head and it was making you anxious, and you wanted to just enjoy this moment. He’d been able to overcome his reservations about bringing you here and you wanted to show him how happy you were that he had.

“I’m really happy you showed me this,” you said, taking a swig.

“Well, this is the part I’m happy with. The other part… well, let’s just say it looks better in the dark.”

“Whatever you want,” you said. “Your house, your rules. Speaking of the house, what’s up with the buyer?”

“Friend of a friend,” he said. “He’s been looking in this neighborhood for a while and we figured we’d give him the first look before it was ready for market. He fell in love, and he’s gonna give us what we’re asking. We’re making a nice profit on this one, hence the phone.”

“I’m so happy for you,” you said, and you were. He looked positively thrilled, his face lit up with the satisfaction of a job successfully completed, and you reached over and kissed him. “So happy.”

“Thanks,” he said. “And speaking of happy, you look pretty happy yourself. Things go well this afternoon?”

“Yeah, I think they did, actually,” you replied. “I’m not gonna get my hopes up, but I think I can safely say that I did a good job today. I was happy with it, they seemed happy with it, so really that’s all I can ask for right now.”

“Well, I’m rooting for you,” he said. “And if it doesn’t work out, it’s their fucking loss.”

You smiled at him and sat back to watch the sun set over the city. When it started to grow dark, you knew it was time to go in. He should have looked reticent about facing his fear, but he wasn’t. He looked almost excited. He had a little smile on his face as he walked you through the house in the meager light the dusk provided, and when you got upstairs to the little staircase that led to the attic room, he told you to stop.

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ve got to do something first.”

You waited, somewhat impatiently, at the bottom of the stairs. You knew he had something special planned up there and you were excited to see what he’d cooked up for you. He was always filled with surprises, and so thoughtful, and you knew that, whatever it was, you were going to love it. Just when you thought you couldn’t make it another second, he came back down the stairs.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “And no peeking.”

He guided you up the stairs, taking care that you didn’t trip, and when you’d passed through the doorway he moved you toward the mattress and told you to lie down.

“Keep them closed,” he said, and you felt him get into bed next to you and take your hand.

“OK,” he said. “Open up.”

When you opened your eyes, the rafters of the attic’s pitched roof were covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. There must have been hundreds of them and you heard yourself gasp when you took in the sight of it. It was surreal, and so beautiful, and you thought you might cry.

“Oh, Jeremy,” you said. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did,” he replied, “because I love you, and you deserve all the stars in the sky.”

There they were – those words you’d so longed to hear – and you rolled over and took his face in your hands. You felt the tears falling from your eyes but you didn’t care. You kissed him deeply, with all the love you had, and when you pulled back you looked him deep in his eyes and whispered.

“I love you, too.”

“Say it again,” he said. His voice was pleading and breathless with need.

“I love you, Jeremy.”

He took your head in his hands and kissed the trails of your tears before wiping them away with his thumbs, and you leaned down and kissed him again. When you pulled away you felt him smile against your lips before you looked around.

You took in the room, which was dimly lit with candles wedged into empty wine bottles, the evidence of repeated use dripping down the sides in trails of solidified wax. There were a few thicker candles, lodged on the floorboards in hardened puddles, and you thought to yourself that you’d never seen anything more romantic. He had thought it embarrassing to live this way but you could tell that somehow, with you there beside him, the room had transformed itself into something special – something warm and inviting instead of cold, dark, and lonely.

He grabbed you and pulled you up on top of him, and he buried his hands in your hair as he kissed you again and again. He whispered _I love you_ , over and over, and the sound of his voice and the words and the feel of his pillowy lips on yours drove you mad with desire. You felt yourself dampen below, and you sat up and pulled your shirt over your head, careful to discard it outside the reach of the candle flames. He reached up and ran his hands over your stomach, resting them on your breasts and kneading them before pulling down the cups of your bra and coming up to take your hardened nipple in his mouth. The room was cold, but the heat of his mouth on you and the blood pumping hard through your body was enough to keep you warm. You took his head in your hands, pressing him to you as he moved his mouth to the other side, and you moaned as he gently suckled you.

You were soaking now, and you needed him – more than you ever had – and you pushed him back down on the bed and ran your hands under his shirt and over his chest. He gasped at your touch, soft and gentle against his muscles, and when you reached the patch of chest hair at his breastbone and started to toy with it he sat up and ripped his shirt off. He wrapped his hands around your back, pulling you down to him, and kissed you hard. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue explored yours, and you lost yourself in his kiss for a while. When you pulled away you were breathless. You wanted him – all of him – and you couldn’t wait another second.

You started to work at his belt buckle but he stayed your hands and rolled you over on your back. He pushed your skirt up to your waist and ran his hands over the fabric of your panties, moaning as he felt you hot and wet against his fingers. He pushed the fabric aside and brought his head down, lapping at you gently before taking your clit into his mouth. You cried out with pleasure but you wanted more of him, but when he worked you open with his fingers you couldn’t help but lay back and revel in the feel of those thick, knobby digits as they entered you slowly and pushed in and out. He groaned at the feel of you and you looked up at him. He was staring down at your pussy with something like reverence in his eyes, watching his fingers as they slid in and out. You could have let him finish you that way, but you wanted to feel him deep inside of you, so you reached down and took his hand away.

“I want you,” you said. “I need you. Please.”

The next minute was a mad scramble of clothes being shed and tossed aside, and when you were naked together you got on top of him and started to slide yourself up and down his length – slowly, purposefully – soaking his cock in your juices and moaning every time you felt his flesh against your clit. He was looking up at you, watching you respond to him, and after a minute you were aching with need. You reached down and positioned him at your entrance, and when he entered you bare for the first time you both let out a deep sigh. You could feel him this time – really feel him – and as you leaned forward and started to slide yourself up and down his length you savored the feel of every throbbing vein, every little curve and dip of his cock that the condoms had always hidden from you. You felt like you’d discovered a hidden treasure, and the heightened pleasure of skin on skin made you gush around him as you started to move faster.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said. “I can feel all of you.”

“You can have all of me,” you said, and you slid yourself down and buried him deep inside you.

You started to move your hips in small circles and he brought his arms around you, big hands splayed across the small of your back as he held you tight to him. As you moved you felt the hairs of his treasure trail tickle your stomach and the harder you rolled your hips the more contact you made, your clit slipping and sliding against him as he kept himself stilled inside you. He watched as you fucked yourself on him, bringing yourself closer and closer. He didn’t ask for more; he just let you ride out your pleasure on top of him, and when you brought yourself to climax you felt every inch of his cock as your walls clamped down tight around him. He moaned with you as you came, savoring every inch of your pussy bare against his flesh. When you came down and fell on his chest, you could feel him throbbing inside you, and you kissed him deep before he rolled you over on your back.

He lifted your legs at the calves and you rested your ankles on his shoulders as he pushed himself back inside you, inch by glorious inch. He moaned at the feel of you, going slowly at first and watching his bare length slide in and out.

“God, I love your pussy,” he said. “You feel like heaven.”

“Your cock feels so good, baby,” you said, and he moaned.

He reached up and grabbed your ankles, holding your legs up wide as he started to thrust harder and faster into you. He hit your special spot with each thrust, and as his pace quickened you felt yourself coming close again. You weren’t quite there, but the look on his face as he fucked you – filled with lust and love and animal desire all at once – was almost enough. You reached down and rubbed your clit before pressing on it, moving it down so his cock would graze it with every stroke. You felt your climax building and you brought your other hand to your breast, squeezing it and bucking your hips to meet him thrust for thrust. He let go of your ankles, throwing them back onto his shoulders, and leaned down a bit, taking your other breast in his hand as he continued to pound you into the mattress. You were so close and you took your hand off your clit, moving his hand from your breast to your mouth, and as you came in hard waves around him you sucked his knobby fingers and moaned with your mouth full of him.

That did it for him, and he took his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop and brought both of his hands to your hips, gripping you tightly and grunting as he brought himself close. You let your legs fall and wrapped them around his ass, and with each deep thrust you could feel it flexing. He started panting hot and heavy, and when he was ready he buried himself to the hilt, shuddering as he came in hot spurts. You stared up at the stars glowing on the ceiling as you felt his cock spasm, and as you tightened your pussy around him you could feel the warmth spreading inside you as he gave you every drop he had. He fell on top of you, spent and breathing heavy, and you clutched him tightly. You stayed that way for a long while, whispering _I love yous_ and keeping him inside you long after he’d gone soft. You could feel your mingled juices start to drip down your thigh and you smiled. You could stay that way forever. You never wanted to let him go.


	8. Chapter 8

It was just over a week after your night with Jeremy at the house when you got the call saying you’d gotten the role. You were beyond thrilled, and he was even happier for you than you were for yourself, and on top of that the sale of the house would be finalized within a few weeks. There was much cause for celebration, and he wanted to take you out.

“Anywhere you want to go,” he said. “Anything you want to do – just say the word.”

You smiled. You knew exactly what you wanted.

“What I want,” you said, “is to get In-N-Out Burger and watch _Terminator_.”

He looked at you and raised an eyebrow.

“The whole city at your fingertips and you want to eat In-N-Out on the couch and watch an action movie?”

You nodded and he smiled.

“I fucking love you,” he said, and he pulled you in for a kiss.

He left to go get the food, and since the nearest In-N-Out was a bit of a drive, you hopped in the shower. As you let the hot water run over you, you felt your body and mind relax and you let your thoughts wander. You had everything you’d ever wanted. It hadn’t been an easy road to get there, but you’d made it. It was a small recurring role – just a few episodes – but to you it meant everything. It meant that all the hard work and bullshit you’d had to put up with over the years had been worth it. It meant you could finally pick up the phone without a knot in your stomach when your mother called. It meant that someone had seen something in you; something that for a long time you thought maybe wasn’t there. Jeremy had seen it from the start, and you thought to yourself that the role was really just the icing on the cake. You’d never loved someone like you loved him, and you could have been happy with him regardless of whether you got work, but you had both now, and it felt so satisfying you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream or some combination of the three.

Jeremy still wasn’t back by the time you were out of the shower, and after another 20 minutes or so you were starting to worry. You had chalked it up to traffic for a while, but when it passed the hour mark you called him on his cell.

“Everything OK?” you asked. “You’ve been gone a while.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Everything’s fine. I just got an idea. Had to go pick something else up. I’m on my way back now. I should be there in 10. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you said, and you hung up.

You knew he had cooked up some surprise for you and you smiled as you towel dried your hair. Before you met him, you’d always hated surprises – they were never the good kind, or if they were, they just weren’t the type of thing you were interested in. But Jeremy always seemed to know exactly what you’d like; he always picked the perfect thing to do for you, almost like he’d crawled inside your head and poked around, choosing a fantasy or a dream and making it your reality. You couldn’t wait to find out what it was, but you had a feeling he’d keep it a secret until the time came. You started to think of some of the things you could do to get him to spill the beans, and by the time he returned your head was filled with all sorts of naughty thoughts. You set up on the couch to eat and watch the movie, and decided to wait to try to get some answers out of him. But he knew you were curious – he always knew.

“I know you want to know what took me so long,” he said as the end credits rolled. “Are you really not going to ask?”

“Why would I?” you replied. “I know you’re not going to tell me. You’re such a tease.”

He looked at you, eyes wide. “ _I’M_ a tease? You’re the one sitting over there in those fucking cut-offs with your gorgeous ass hanging out. Don’t think I haven’t been staring at that thing this whole time.”

You flashed him a coy smile. “Oh, have you now?” you said, but you knew. “Well maybe if you give me a little hint, I’ll take them off.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s a pretty good surprise. I might need more than that.”

You crawled up onto his lap and he slid his hands up under the fabric of your shorts as you played with his hair.

“What do you want?” you asked.

“I want you naked on that bed,” he said. “And I want to lick you everywhere.”

His voice was deep and husky and the tone set you tingling. You loved when he told you what he wanted, and you always wanted to give it to him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” you asked, and within moments you were both naked, clothes strewn across the floor in a trail from the living room down the hallway to the bedroom.

He got on top of you, kissing you deep before tracing your lips with the tip of his tongue. He wanted to start at the top and work his way down, and you let him. He started slowly, nibbling your earlobe and kissing down your neck, and when he reached your collarbone he ran his tongue across it and over the other one before moving down lower to lavish attention on your breasts. You lost track of time as he kissed and licked and nipped at you, all the while moaning onto your skin like you were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted. You arched your back and spread your legs wide as he dragged his tongue down your stomach, and he teased your clit with a kiss and a flick of his tongue before grabbing your leg and lifting it. He started at your ankle, where his strong hand held your leg aloft, and kissed and tongued his way down your calf and your thigh. You looked down at him, breathing heavy, and he smiled mischievously before he took your other leg in his hand. By the time he was through with it you were aching for him, and he knew it. He licked you once, slowly, and you moaned, but then he stopped.

“Turn over,” he said. “And get on your knees.”

You did as he asked, and as soon as you were up he grabbed your thighs and pulled you towards him at the edge of the bed. He had his hands on your ass, spreading you open, and his face was buried in between your cheeks. He pulled you tight against his face and licked your pussy up and down, teasing your lips open and tonguing you a bit before taking his mouth away. He brought his tongue to your clit and flicked it a few times before he started to drag his tongue up, all the way up, and before you knew what was happening he was licking hot little circles around your asshole and toying with you, the pointy tip of his tongue yearning to go somewhere it hadn’t been before. When he’d said he wanted to lick you everywhere, he fucking meant it.

You gasped and your body jerked forward a little. He stopped and you looked at him over your shoulder. His eyes were posing the question.

“Don’t stop,” you said, and when you turned back around you could feel the smile spread across his face.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, and then continued.

It wasn’t your first time; your ex was an ass man, but with him it was all about prep for the end game. With Jeremy, it was different – better, as it always was – and you didn’t feel an ounce of self-consciousness. You trusted him completely, you loved him completely, and you wanted him to have all of you.

He took his time. You could tell he didn’t want to rush you – he wanted to test you out, see what you liked, figure out just what to do to make you writhe and moan. He softened his lips and kissed you gently a few times before pressing the flat of his tongue against you and moving it in undulating waves. You’d never experienced a sensation quite like it, and you reached back and grabbed his hair, holding him tight against you as he started to work you open with his tongue. You relaxed your body, savoring the feel of him, and when you felt the tip slide inside you and swirl you let out a sound you didn’t know was possible. He liked that, and it drew a moan from him that vibrated against the nerve endings that had gone unused for so long. You were gushing wet, and as he slid his tongue in further he brought two fingers up and pushed them deep inside your pussy, crooking them just right to find your special spot. The combination of his tongue and fingers was explosive, and it wasn’t too long before you were coming hard, gripping his hair and the bedspread as you screamed something that should have sounded like his name. He let his tongue linger there for a moment as the aftershocks ran through you, and when you were through he dotted your ass with gentle kisses.

You collapsed on the bed, near dizzy and breathless, and he crawled on top of you, kissing up your back to the nape of your neck. You could feel his cock, hard against your ass, and you wanted more. You reached down behind you and took him in your hand, pressing his shaft down between your cheeks and rubbing the topside gently as you moved your hips beneath him.

“Don’t tease me,” he whispered.

“I’m not teasing.”

He paused. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you said. You were practically begging for it and you could feel his cock jolt up a little when you pressed his tip to your asshole and clenched. “Fuck me.”

“Oh, Christ,” he said, and he pressed his forehead to your shoulder before bringing you up gently on all fours.

He started slow, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your pussy and sliding inside you. You were drenched with need for him and he could feel it, and he groaned onto your back as he felt your walls hot and slick around him. He put one hand on your hip as he started to stroke, and when you felt the rough pad of his finger trace the outline of your asshole your whole body started to tingle. You threw your head back and started to rock back against him, meeting his thrusts and giving permission for his finger to wander deeper. He took your cue, and when you felt his fingers splayed across the small of your back and his thumb start to work you open you pushed back hard against him. You felt him breach you, slowly and delicately, and you tensed for a moment, but as he pushed in deeper and bent his thumb up you relaxed and let him start to move. He continued to thrust in long, deep strokes as he fingered you, and when his thumb found the right spot you cried out and reached back to grab his wrist.

“Jesus fuck, don’t stop. I’m gonna come,” you said, and you were so close you could taste it.

Some light pressure and a twitch of his thumb and you felt yourself lose all control, and when he felt you clamp down on his finger he buried his cock to the hilt inside you and groaned as he felt you come in pulsing waves around him. He pulled out, but left his finger in, giving you a minute to collect yourself as he got you ready.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

His tone was soft and gentle, and you knew that, if you asked him to, he would stop and ask for nothing in return. It made you love him even more, made you want to give every inch of yourself to him, and when you could speak you whispered, “Yes.”

When he could feel you were ready, he positioned himself at your entrance. His cock was already drenched in you, and when he started to push you gasped and clutched the bedspread. He stopped.

“You OK?”

“Yes,” you said, “keep going.”

He inched into you so gently – like you were something delicate he didn’t want to break – and waited for your body to stretch and adjust to him. He didn’t push you, he wasn’t greedy – he gave you just as much as he thought you could handle and waited for you to call the shots. When you were ready you pushed back against him, and when you started to move, taking him deeper and deeper inside of you, he let out the groan he’d been holding in.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight. I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Now fuck me.”

And he did – slow at first, but building to a steady pace that had him panting and cursing and moaning your name. You bit your lip, the mix of pain and pleasure flooding your body with warmth from head to toe. The sounds he was making and the way he was gripping you tight told you he was close, and you wanted nothing more than to give him the pleasure he deserved. You reached back and brought your hand to his hip, craving more contact, and he pulled you up to him so your back was against his chest. He brought his hands around to your breasts as he fucked up into you, and you slid down his length, meeting him halfway with each thrust. You never knew it could feel this good, and just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he brought his hand down to your clit and started to rub you just right. You didn’t think you had another orgasm in you but he brought you there, and it was so intense you were shaking in his arms. He was clutching you tight to him as you came and when he felt you start to clench hard around him, it brought him over the edge with you.

You’d never come at the same time before – not even close – and it was the most remarkable feeling. You let your head rest on his shoulder as he looked down at you, and you watched each other come completely undone. You’d watched him climax many times before, but it was never quite like this, and when you were both finished you collapsed forward together in a tangled mess of limbs. He was heavy on top of you, but the weight was comforting, and as he kissed your neck and your shoulders you reached back and ran your hands through his hair.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

You couldn’t even speak; you could only sigh, but you didn’t have to say anything. He knew you felt the same. He pulled out of you gently and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling while he tried to catch his breath, and once you could manage to move and speak again, you propped yourself up on your elbows and smiled at him.

“So,” you said, “are you gonna tell me what the surprise is now?”

“I was gonna tell you after the movie,” he said with a satisfied smirk, “but now I’m glad I waited.”

You laughed together as you curled up in his strong arms.

“Tell me,” you said. “The suspense is killing me.”

“Well,” he said, “you’ve got the weekend free, right?”

“Yeah…”

“I thought maybe we could go to Joshua Tree, go camping, see some real stars. I stopped by my friend’s place on the way back and borrowed a bunch of shit.”

You smiled and you could tell from the look in his eyes that you were glowing.

“That sounds perfect,” you said.

“You’re perfect,” he replied.

You got up at an ungodly hour that Saturday morning so you could secure a spot at the campground Jeremy’s friend had suggested – it was first come, first serve, and it was a nice, relatively secluded spot compared to some of the other sites in the park. There was coffee ready and waiting for you in your travel mug, and you’d packed up the truck the night before, so all you needed to do was throw on some clothes and drag your ass into the passenger seat. Jeremy laughed at you while you stumbled around in the low light of dawn. You were not a morning person, and it showed. He was used to getting up early, starting work as soon as there was enough sunlight, but not you. You could barely function, and even with the coffee, you fell asleep about a half hour into the drive. When you woke up and turned to him you saw the sun beating down on his face and his arm resting on the open window. You smiled at him sleepily and he laughed.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said.

“Where are we?”

“About an hour from the park.”

“Shit, I didn’t mean to sleep that long,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied. “I like watching you sleep. Besides, it gave me some time to think about what we talked about last night.”

You’d brought up the idea of Jeremy moving in to your place temporarily while he and his partner found the next house. They had a shortlist, but they hadn’t come to a decision. He’d been practically living with you already and it just seemed to make sense. He was hesitant, though, and you understood. Though it felt like you’d known each other forever, you really hadn’t been together all that long, and moving in together was a huge, and potentially dangerous, step to take.

“I really wasn’t trying to pressure you into it, and it would only be temporary, but-“ He stopped you.

“I want to move in,” he said. “It makes sense, but also I just want to be with you. Maybe it’s a terrible idea, but I don’t really give a shit.”

“Neither do I,” you said, and you smiled.

It was still relatively early when you got to the campsite but it was already hot as hell. You’d gone camping when you were little, but in the forest, not the desert, so you’d made sure before leaving that you knew what you were getting yourself into. You had all kinds of layers, enough water to drown in, and tons of firewood. You had more shit with you for one night of camping than you’d packed for trips lasting more than a week, but you didn’t want to forget anything important and fuck up the trip. It was your first “vacation” together, however short, and you wanted everything to be perfect. You helped Jeremy put up the tent, and though he laughed at you at first, soon enough it all came back to you and you were able to make yourself useful. By the time everything was set up, you were both drenched in sweat, and he whipped his shirt off and rummaged around for a fresh one. The sweat was glistening on the tanned skin of his torso and he looked so good you were practically drooling.

“I really wish you could just walk around shirtless all day,” you said, “but you’ll get sun poisoning.”

He smiled. “If it were up to me, you’d never be wearing clothes.”

You took a nice, long hike – nothing terribly strenuous – but you could still feel that good ache in your muscles as you walked along with him. You were silent a lot of the time, taking in the scenery together and not  having to say a word to know that you were both feeling the same sense of awe at whatever you happened to be looking at. You talked, too – about a lot of things. Things that in the city seemed pretentious, but somehow, out in the quiet beauty of the desert, seemed more appropriate. You talked about what life meant to you, what you hoped to get out of it, why you shouldn’t fear death, and why it was so important to cherish every moment life brings – good or bad. You talked about your families – all the things you loved about them and the things that made you want to strangle them sometimes. And you talked about the future – your future, together – and by the time you got back to your tent you were blissfully exhausted.

The sun had shifted in the sky and you were both grateful for the shade provided by a nearby rock formation. After a boatload of water and a bite to eat, you cracked open two beers and Jeremy started to build the fire. That was something you’d always been terrible at, and you’d always left it to your father and brother to get it going on family camping trips. But Jeremy seemed to do it with ease, and something about that turned you on. Not that he didn’t always turn you on, but watching him walking around with logs slung over his shoulder, with a singular focus on getting the fire started, made him seem like some sort of rugged mountain man. When he’d got it burning nicely he turned to you with that satisfied look on his face he always got when he’d accomplished something. You smiled back at him and took a swig of your beer.

“That’s a fine lookin’ fire you got going there,” you said.

“Well, I’ve got a fine lookin’ woman I need to keep warm.”

You sat snuggled up together by the fire, wrapped up in a few extra layers and waiting for the sun to set, and when it did it took your breath away. But nothing could have prepared you for the stars. It was pitch black except for the firelight, and the sky looked infinite over your head. There were stars everywhere, and you rummaged through your bag for the binoculars you’d bought for the occasion. You found a star cloud with your bare eyes and brought the binoculars up, and through them it dissolved into hundreds of individual specks of light. You felt like the entire galaxy was before you, and it made you feel so small, but in a good way. You felt so blessed at that moment, to be able to experience this place with someone you loved. You were just two people, tucked in one tiny corner of one small planet, but even though the universe was vast and unknowable, you felt like what you had was important – that it somehow mattered, that maybe it was the only thing that mattered. When you could tear yourself away from the sky you put the binoculars down and looked at him. He’d been watching you the whole time. He had a gentle smile on his face and he took your hand in his.

“I’ll never forget this as long as I live,” you said. “Never.”

You felt happy tears tickle at your tear ducts and he leaned over and kissed you, and when he pulled back he pressed his forehead to yours and whispered, “Neither will I.”

You stared up at the sky together, huddled close and letting the warmth of the fire wash over you, and just when you thought things couldn’t get any more magical, a shooting star blazed across the expanse of sky above you. You freaked out and started flailing around like a little kid and he laughed at you.

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” he said.

“I don’t have to,” you replied, and you kissed him.

You did anyway, though. You wished that you could stay this way forever, no matter what life brought your way. You wished he would be with you always, and you with him. You made love in the tent that night, bundled up tight together in one sleeping bag. It was cold but the heat from your bodies moving together kept you warm. In the still of the desert night you could hear every breath, every sound your bodies made as they came together, and you basked in it, keeping as quiet as you could. You both came with silent screams, and soundless it was almost better. Holding it in brought an intensity and passion that was more erotic than the usual grunts and groans. At that moment you were the only two people in the world, and though you had to sleep in individual sleeping bags, it was enough just to have him there next to you in that wondrous place.

You woke just before dawn, but somehow you weren’t groggy. You wanted to watch the day break and for the first time ever, you were awake before he was. You shook him gently to rouse him from his sleep, and he smiled up at you.

“I want to watch the sunrise,” you said, and he agreed.

You threw on as many layers as you could find and exited the tent just as the soft glow of morning began to break in the distance. He stood behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and head perched on your shoulder. You were both silent as the sky turned from black to ocean blue, and you watched the orange glow at the horizon slowly expand upward. It wasn’t long before the sky was blazing orange, pink, and purple, and when the sun poked out and shot blinding rays into your eyes you turned to him and smiled.

“Let’s take a picture,” you said, and you went to dig out your camera.

He held his long arm out and you snuggled up close to him, and after a few failed attempts at getting both your heads into frame, you got the perfect shot – the sun was shining in the distance just over your shoulder and you were smiling as he planted a kiss on your cheek. His eyes were closed and he wanted to take another but you refused.

“This one is perfect,” you said, and it was.

Sometimes a picture is just a picture – two people smiling in a beautiful place. They look cute and happy, yes, but it’s forced. But this picture captured everything you felt about each other. You were smiling in that way he loved – when your face lit up and your joy seemed to ooze out of every pore – and even though he was turned away from the camera and his eyes were closed, anyone could see how much he loved you. Even more than that, you could feel it. It was not just a moment captured, it was a feeling, and pictures like that are rare and special. You had more than just memories now; you had something tangible that held all the depth and intensity of that moment and all the emotion it carried. When you got home you had it printed and framed, and though over the years it would be taken out and tucked away, you always kept it – to remind you of him, of all that you’d shared together, and as a reminder that a perfect love is possible, if only for a time. 


	9. Chapter 9

It had been a little over a month since Jeremy had closed on the house but he was still living with you. It hadn’t even come up; it wasn’t even a question. You didn’t want him to leave, and he didn’t want to go. You were enjoying living in domestic bliss together, and even though he was incredibly busy and working long hours, it was all worth it when he came home to you. You were working a lot, too. Things had gone well with your role on the show and you’d decided to cut back your shifts at the bar to focus on auditions. With that part under your belt, you were getting more and more callbacks, and you were on the verge of landing a supporting role in an indie movie. It was the type of thing that you knew nobody would see, but you didn’t care. It was a film, and they wanted you for it, and you were finally starting to feel like a real actress instead of a wannabe.

Jeremy had been auditioning a lot, too, and one day a script fell into his hands that he was especially enthusiastic about. You were cooking dinner when he got home and he threw the script on the coffee table before coming into the kitchen to greet you with a kiss. He was talking animatedly about it and you could tell he really wanted it. It would be a game-changer for him – the lead role in a Jeffrey Dahmer biopic – and from what he’d been told he was almost assuredly going to get the part. You didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of the end, but at the time you were both just excited about what the future might bring.

“Can I read it?” you asked, as you were finishing up dinner.

“Yeah,” he said, “but maybe not on a full stomach.”

“Jesus, that bad?”

“It’s twisted,” he said, “that’s for fucking sure. But it’s great.”

“I want to read it,” you said. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

You sat down on the couch to read while he showered and you didn’t put it down until you were finished. You’d known it would be fucked up – it was about Jeffrey Dahmer after all – but nothing could have prepared you for what you’d just read. You sat quietly with the script in your hands. You knew Jeremy would give an amazing performance, and he would be in pretty much every scene, but it scared you a little bit to picture him that way. When he came back out to the living room you looked up at him and he could see the disquiet on your face.

“I told you,” he said.

“This is really fucking intense,” you said. “There’s some dark shit in here.”

He chuckled and took the script from your hands, flipping through it.

“Well, the movie’s called _Dahmer_ ,” he said. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “but it wasn’t that. I do know one thing, though.” You reached up and took his face in your hands. “You’re gonna be great.”

He kissed you sweetly and you smiled. You had no idea how the man in front of you – this gentle, kind, wonderful man you’d fallen so hard for– was going to transform himself into a monster. But you knew he could do it; somehow you just knew.

“So,” you said, “how are you gonna prep for this shit?”

“Honestly,” he replied. “I don’t really know yet. I’m not really into method acting, but _this_ – fuck, I don’t know. I think I’m gonna have to get into a pretty fucked up headspace to get this thing right. There’s no point in half-assing it. I really have to go there.”

“Well, if there’s anything I can do, I’m here.”

“I might take you up on that,” he said, and he smiled.

You were just offering to help – one actor to another – and at the time it seemed like the right thing to say. You couldn’t have known what the repercussions would be, that with that one simple statement you could put a crack in the foundation that would ultimately bring everything down. But you’d started something, and by the time it was through, neither of you would be the same.

Jeremy got the part, as expected, and he had a little over a week to prepare before they started principle photography. He started researching Dahmer’s life, watching interviews to get a feel for his general affect and the subtleties of his voice and facial expressions; he read up on the psychology of serial killers and the gory details of all the murders. But it was when he started to delve into the twisted kinks that got Dahmer off that things started to take a turn. One day when you came home you heard him in the bathroom and you knew he was jerking off. You liked to watch each other sometimes, and the sight of his hand and his arm when he stroked himself always got your blood boiling. You couldn’t help yourself and you pressed your ear to the bathroom door to listen. You could hear his grunts and the slippery sound of his hand working his lubed-up cock, but something wasn’t right. He was breathing heavy, but he sounded frustrated, and your assumption was proven correct when you heard him curse and throw something to the floor. You knocked lightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Not really,” he said. “Give me a minute, OK?”

You sat on the bed, waiting for him to get himself together, and when he came out of the bathroom he had his shirt unbuttoned and he looked stressed as hell.

“What’s wrong?”

“You don’t want to know,” he said. “Trust me.”

“I do, actually,” you replied.

He sat on the bed, facing away from you, and he sighed.

“This is real fucked up,” he began, “but you asked. I’ve been trying to get into character and…. Christ, I don’t even know how to say this.”

“Just say it,” you said. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I’ve been jerking off to weird shit, trying to get my head fucked up, but I can’t do it. I just can’t.” He turned to look at you with a half-smile. “You’re the only thing that gets my dick hard, and it doesn’t exactly bring me to a dark place when I think about fucking you.”

You smiled. “Well, I’m flattered, but that’s not going to help you. So what are we talking about here – hardcore kink, gay porn? I’m no prude. I’ve seen some shit.”

He hesitated. He didn’t want to tell you.

“Anatomy textbooks,” he said. “Lobotomies, that kind of thing.”

“Jesus, you’re not fucking around, huh?” You were more impressed than shocked, and you could feel him relax and start to open up to you.

“It’s not working, though. I need to try something else. Oh, and by the way, I blame you for my current state of happiness. You’re making this really difficult.”

He smiled at you and you had a thought.

“What if I were to help you out?” you said. “You know… get you started.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you. “Seriously?”

You nodded and he ran a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I guess it’s worth a try. What did you have in mind?”

“Go get your book,” you replied. “Then I’ll work on making that dick hard.”

He fetched the book from the bathroom and opened it to an earmarked page – a two-page spread illustrating the before-and-after of a lobotomized human brain. He set it at the edge of the bed and you knelt in front of him, taking his pants down with a few well-practiced motions.

“Pretend I’m not here,” you said. “Don’t look at me. Don’t touch me. Just focus on the page.”

You took his cock in your hand. He was soft, but when you took the tip in your mouth and began to suck you could feel him start to swell in your palm. You swirled your tongue around the tip a few times as you stroked him and you could taste the remnants of the flavored lube he’d been using – cherry, your favorite. When he was fully erect you took him deep into your mouth, almost into your throat, and cupped his balls with your free hand, massaging them the way you knew he liked. He moaned and started to rock his hips, but he kept his hands to himself. You gripped the base of his cock tight and kept your lips tightly pressed to your hand as you pumped and sucked him harder than you usually did. You made no sounds other than those that came with the territory; you were trying to be invisible, only there as a means to an end he couldn’t get to on his own.

You listened to the sounds he was making, trying to gauge how close he was. Usually he would tell you, but you’d made it clear that he was to ignore you, and you had to figure it out on your own. By now you knew his tells, though. You could see his thigh muscles twitching and you heard his breathing quicken, and when you could tell he was almost there you took your mouth off of him and grabbed his hand, placing yours over it and pumping fast. After a few strokes you knew he was ready to blow and you took your hand away, and as you let him finish himself off you looked up at him; he wasn’t looking at you, and when he came he kept his eyes fixed on the page as he spurted hot streaks onto your face. When he’d recovered he slammed the book closed, still breathing heavy, and looked down at you for the first time since you’d started.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he said, and he went to go get something for you to wipe yourself off with. You laughed.

“I’m fine,” you said. “Nothing a towel and a little cleanser won’t fix. So… I guess that worked, then?”

“Yeah, it worked,” he said. He handed you the towel and sat in front of you on the bed while you cleaned yourself up. “It worked a little too well, I think.”

You looked up at him. You could tell he was a little stunned by what had just happened and you needed to make sure he was okay.

“You alright?” you asked.

“I think so,” he said. “I’ve never had to do anything like this before. I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“I think that if you’re trying to get into Jeffrey Dahmer’s head and you _don’t_ feel weird, then we have a serious fucking problem on our hands.”

You both laughed and you went into the bathroom to wash your face. When you were done you stared at yourself in the mirror, thinking about what had just happened. You should have felt strange about it but you didn’t. Instead, you found yourself thinking about what else you could do. You’d done some role play in the bedroom before, though nothing too extreme, but for some reason your mind was flooded with all sorts of thoughts you never knew you were capable of. It scared you a bit, but it excited you more. You should have stopped then, pushed the thoughts out of your head and just let him go about his prep – letting him ask for help if he needed it or go it alone if he wanted to – but you didn’t. You found yourself desiring things that had never even occurred to you before. Over the years you would tell yourself it was only an exercise – to see how deep into character you could get and how far you could go with it – but you always knew in the back of your mind there was something else to it. Maybe you had known from the start.

You were sitting outside with him, chain smoking and drinking whiskey when you brought it up. He’d been smoking more than usual, and you’d given in to your urges and started smoking throughout the day again. You weren’t near as bad as he was, though. He was up to almost two packs a day to get ready for the movie. He would be smoking in nearly every scene, and even for a regular smoker, that would take its toll when you factored in multiple takes. You were on your third tumbler of whiskey and your fourth cigarette when you began.

“So,” you said, “I was thinking.”

“That’s always dangerous,” he said, and he chuckled before taking a deep drag and exhaling.

“Shut up.” You swatted his arm before continuing. “I was thinking about the script and, you know, ways maybe we could… rehearse together.”

He looked at you strangely, but you knew you’d piqued his interest.

“Rehearse?”

“Yeah, like maybe we could do a couple things here so you’ll be more comfortable with them later… some of the dark shit.”

He put his glass down and stubbed out his cigarette. He was searching you with his eyes, trying to figure out if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing.

“How hardcore are we talking?” he asked.

You could tell he was genuinely curious, and as the whiskey took over, you started spilling all your dark thoughts to him. He was taken aback at first, but he warmed up to the ideas quickly enough. You knew he was all sorts of twisted inside trying to internalize this role and that he would welcome any suggestions you had to try to get to the place he needed to be. He didn’t have much time and he was putting a lot of pressure on himself to get it right. You wanted to help him, and maybe help yourself in the process, and you trusted each other completely. Neither of you knew that once you started down this road, there was no turning back.

You had limits of course, and you told him what you wouldn’t do under any circumstances: no choking (though he could simulate it where the script called for it), no knives or cutting of any kind (though biting was OK, and if you were honest with yourself, you were kind of looking forward to it), and no anal while in character. You’d liked it with him the first time, and you’d liked it since then, but it felt wrong to you to do it any other way. You loved the way he was so tender with you the few times you’d done it, and you didn’t want to experience the flipside of that. Rough sex was one thing – and something you enjoyed – but hardcore anal was not something you were ever interested in trying. You were happy to hear he felt the same.

“I just don’t want to hurt you, whatever we end up doing,” he said. “We need a safe word or some shit. That’s what people do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, OK. Let me think. It has to be something we would never say during sex. Something completely ridiculous that has nothing to do with anything.”

“Banana?” he said.

You shook your head. “Too phallic. How about Red Sox?”

“Why Red Sox?”

“Because I hate the fucking Red Sox, that’s why.”

He laughed. “OK, Red Sox it is, then. But what if you can’t say it for some reason? I mean, I have no idea where this is gonna go…”

“If I can’t talk then I’ll snap my fingers twice.”

“OK, I guess that’s settled, then.” He took down the rest of the whiskey in his glass and set it on the table before looking over at you with heavy-lidded eyes. He was drunk and horny and with all this talk of sex you knew he wanted you whatever way he could have you. “So where do you want to start?”

“Well,” you said, leaning over the table to him, “I already know how much you like to taste me. How about we get in that bedroom and bring out your inner cannibal?”

“You want me to bite you?”

“Damn right I do,” you said. “And you’d better leave a mark.”

He smiled at you, a bit of mischief playing on his lips, but when you got inside his whole persona changed. He swept you up and carried you to the bed, and you hung like dead weight in his arms as he walked you there. If he was ready to go there, you’d play your part too. He threw you on the bed and you let your body flop around and fall as it may. You kept yourself still and waited for him to strip you naked, and when he did you looked up at him with a glazed look in your eyes. The whiskey helped with that, but you were really trying to act like you’d been drugged. The look on his face as he stripped you bare was bone-chilling. The Jeremy you loved was somewhere in that body, but certainly not in the face.

“I’m just gonna take a couple pictures,” he said, and the voice you heard wasn’t entirely his.

He pulled out an old Polaroid camera and started taking shots of you on the bed, looking at them briefly before letting them fall to the floor. The flash was blinding in the dark room and you winced each time he got a shot off. Every so often he would rearrange your position – an arm here, a leg there – and finally he rolled you over on your stomach and snapped away until the film ran out.

You heard the rustle of clothes and the soft thud of fabric hitting the floor and then you could feel him climb up behind you. You didn’t have to see him to know he looked different. He’d approached you like this countless times before, but something in the way he was moving was unusual – it was slower, deliberate, almost predatory as he crept toward you and slid his body up over yours. He pushed your hair to the side and brought his mouth to your neck, licking a line up to your ear and taking your earlobe between his teeth. He was nibbling it a bit harder than he usually did, but you liked it. You resisted the urge to moan as you heard him breathing heavy in your ear, and you kept your face buried in the pillow and your body still as stone. You felt his rough palms roam across your entire body, like he was studying you with his hands, and you got chills when you felt the hot tip of his tongue run up your spine. It was wrong and you knew it, but that made it even hotter, and you felt yourself getting wetter with each lick and nip of his teeth. You could feel him hard against your back as he straddled you and bent over to take a nice, hard bite out of your shoulder.

You tried and tried but the longer he kept his teeth sunk deep into your flesh the more you needed to cry out. It hurt but the pain was like an aphrodisiac and you felt your pussy start to throb. You held out as long as you could but when you felt the skin break you let out a muffled scream into the pillow. You could feel him hesitate, whether from the shock of having drawn blood or the sound you’d made after keeping so silent you didn’t know, and you knew he was expecting a sign from you to stop. But you didn’t give it to him. You didn’t want him to stop, and once he realized that he reached back and ran his fingers between your legs. You heard a sharp intake of breath but that was all – the only sign you’d get that he knew you were ready and willing.

He spread your legs just enough to gain entry and slipped inside you with ease, and once he was in he clamped your legs closed with his thighs to tighten you up even more. He pounded you into the mattress, grunting and panting, and you felt him bend over you a bit and press his hand down on the back of your head, holding you down against the pillow to muffle the sounds of your pleasure. You couldn’t hold them in no matter how hard you tried. The white-hot pain from the fresh wound on your shoulder and the relentless pace of his cock slamming into you was making you dizzy with need. But it was when he brought his mouth down to the bite mark and started to trace the bloodline with his tongue that you really started to lose it. He moaned against your torn flesh as he fucked you and you felt your climax building deep in the pit of your belly, and when he started to suck at the tender flesh of your shoulder you came hard and screamed into the pillow.

You felt your pussy gushing around him as he milked the blood from your wound, and when you were done he brought himself back up on his knees behind you. Your body was completely relaxed, the afterglow of your orgasm doing much to keep you loose and pliable, and when he grabbed your hips and pulled you up a bit you let him bear all your weight. When he started to grunt you knew he was close. He was making animal sounds – deep and dark and guttural in a way you’d never heard from him before – but you liked the way his pleasure echoed in the silent room. All you could hear was the sound of skin on skin and his labored breathing before he came with a tortured groan.

You kept still after he pulled out of you, waiting for him to end the scene. If he wanted more you would have given it to him, but he didn’t. He went to the bathroom and came back with a wet towel and some stuff to clean and dress your shoulder.

“Are you OK?” he asked.

He was dabbing your wound with the damp towel, and you turned your face to look at him. Your Jeremy was back – his face, his voice, the tender way he had about him – and he was looking at you with concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you said. “Actually, I’m more than fine. Is it bad that I liked that?”

“Maybe,” he said, and he chuckled. “But if you’re bad, I’m worse. I have no idea what just happened to me.”

“That’s good, though, right? That’s kind of the point of all this.”

“I guess so,” he said, “but still…”

He trailed off and you could tell his mind was racing, that he was torn and conflicted and feeling a million things at once – not all of them good. Maybe you should have been worried. Maybe you should have seen it in his eyes right then and there and put a stop to it. But you didn’t. You just let him go about fixing up your shoulder, and once he’d cleaned it properly, he put some Neosporin on the broken skin and gently placed a bandage over it.

“That’s definitely gonna leave a mark,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “I wanted one. Do me a favor, though?”

“Anything,” he said.

“Burn those fucking pictures.”

Over the next few days, things started to escalate. You’d liked it when he’d marked you again, taking a nice chunk out of your ass. You’d liked it when he’d wrestled you into submission and thrown you on the couch, pinning you down and clamping his hand over your mouth while he fucked you half-blind. But you could see the change in him. You barely ever saw him without a cigarette between his fingers or a beer in his hand. His mannerisms were different, his tone was different, and it had been days since you’d had a conversation with him that didn’t involve the film in some way. One day when you came home you found him weeping on the couch, his whole body convulsing and racked with anguish. You couldn’t tell for sure if it was prep for the crying scene or whether he was really breaking down, so you just stood there and watched.  It was agonizing to see him that way, and when he looked up at you with red, puffy eyes you knew that, even if he was just practicing, at least some of his pain must be real. He slumped over on the couch, head in his hands, and you sat next to him and rubbed his back.

“Please tell me that was all just acting.” You knew it wasn’t but you were trying to convince yourself.

“I don’t even know anymore,” he said. “One minute I’m sitting here memorizing my lines and the next I’m a complete fucking mess. I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes,” you said, “you can. You’re almost there, and you’re gonna be amazing. This is the ugly part. You knew it was coming.”

“There’s a difference between thinking about it and actually doing it,” he said. “This shit is getting to me. I just need this to be over.”

“It’ll be over soon, baby,” you said. “And then you’ll have your life back.” You’d said the words hoping they were true, but looking at him – totally lost and distraught – you weren’t sure.

Later that night you came out of the bathroom after a shower and he was walking towards you. The look in his eyes terrified you and without thinking you screamed “Red Sox” and stumbled back against the wall. He looked at you, completely confused.

“I was just going to the bathroom,” he said. You knew it was Jeremy talking to you but his voice had that cold, emotionless quality it had taken on over the past few days.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “You just scared me. You looked like…”

“Him?” he asked.

“Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting to see you there. I don’t know why I freaked out.”

He dropped the affect and walked over to you, taking you in his arms.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” he said. “Really.”

“No, no. You just startled me, that’s all. I’m fine.”

He could feel your heart racing in your chest as he held you to him.

“You’re not fine,” he said. “I can see it and I can feel it.”

You looked up at him and took his face in your hands.

“You have to trust me,” you said. “If I tell you I’m fine, I’m fine. Besides, this is the last one. You start shooting day after tomorrow.”

“OK,” he said, “last one.” He kissed you on the forehead and went to take a shower.

You’d saved the most intense one for the end, the way he wanted it. He needed to be fully ready – almost entirely in Dahmer’s head – by the time he got to the choking scene. You’d already discussed it in detail – he was just going to fake it and you were just going to act like he was actually applying pressure, but you knew he was nervous anyway. He was scared he’d slip by accident, but you assured him that you trusted him completely, and that was what the double snap was for in the first place. There was no sex involved – just a run-through of the scene after the police leave Dahmer’s apartment. You weren’t worried about it and you set up on the couch with that dazed semiconscious look in your eyes and your body like dead weight around you, waiting for him.

This time when you saw him you were ready for it and it didn’t faze you as he approached you. He hovered over you, looking down and searching your face for signs of life. You looked up into his hardened eyes, pleading for mercy behind your glazed expression, but there was no mercy in him. He had that predatory look he’d perfected and he was breathing heavy, his anger bubbling up slowly until it finally broke loose. In a flash he was bent over with his hands wrapped around your neck, mouth open and grunting as he shook you violently. It was time for you to play your part and you let your eyes bulge and pop wide as you feigned lack of oxygen. He was panting and he made a sound like he was coming as he kept his hands pressed to your neck. You looked up at him as you faked your last moment of consciousness, giving it all you had before closing your eyes and waiting for him to resuscitate you.

You should have felt his mouth on yours within moments, but nothing happened. You waited a few moments more, and then you heard him start to cry. Your eyes shot open and you found him on his knees before you, hands over his face and rocking slowly back and forth. You scrambled down on the floor next to him but when you moved to touch him he jerked away from you.

“I can’t fucking do this,” he said between sobs.

“You didn’t hurt me at all,” you said. “I’m fine.”

“No,” he said. “This. Us. I can’t do it.”

Your heart stopped for a moment.

“What are you saying?” you asked. You didn’t want to know the answer.

“I just… I can’t even look at you right now. Every time I look at you all I can think about is all the horrible shit I’ve done to you. I fucking love you and I’ve done all these terrible things. I just fucking killed you for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m right here,” you said. “I’m fine. It was acting. That’s what we do.”

“It didn’t feel like it that time,” he said. His voice was shaky and his whole body was trembling next to you, but you didn’t dare touch him. “That was too real. That was too far. I have to go.”

He got up quickly and went to grab his jacket and his keys.

“Wait,” you said, and you got up to follow him. “Don’t go. Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I need to get out of here.”

He moved to open the door and you screamed “Where the fuck are you going?”

You could feel hot tears streaking your face as you pleaded with him to stay but he wouldn’t. He just looked at you with sad eyes and shook his head. He looked destroyed, broken, and completely lost. He whispered “I love you” before closing the door behind him.

You stood frozen in place as you listened to the sound of his truck starting up and pulling away. You didn’t know how long you stood there after that, but by the time you collapsed in a sobbing heap on the couch your whole body was numb. You didn’t sleep that night. You stayed up chain smoking and drinking whiskey straight from the bottle, sporadically crying and checking your phone every two minutes to see if he’d called or texted you. He didn’t – not that night, not the next day – and you refused to call him first. You weren’t going to beg, and you knew he had already started shooting. Distraught as you were, you knew that he’d decided he couldn’t see you or speak to you for the duration of the shoot. He’d left himself behind; he was Dahmer now, and Jeremy wouldn’t be back until the film wrapped. But you knew he would come back to you, that you’d work through whatever you needed to until everything got back to normal.

It was what you’d thought at the time – a lovely notion – but that’s not what happened. Not even close. 


	10. Chapter 10

It had been more than a week since _Dahmer_ wrapped and you still hadn’t heard a word from Jeremy. You’d cried nonstop for the first week he was gone but now you were just walking around like a zombie most of the time. He’d left what little he had at your place and you couldn’t even open your dresser drawers without going catatonic for a few minutes. You knew you should have thrown all his shit in a bag and let it sit tucked away in some unused corner of your condo, but you kept everything just as it had been when he left. Maybe it was the hope that he would come back, that everything would go back to the way it had been, that you could both move past the dark places you’d gone and focus on a brighter future. Or maybe you were just a fucking masochist. Either way, you went to bed every night with one of his shirts on the pillow next to you, you kept the framed picture from your camping trip on your bedside table, you even started using his toothbrush.

The only good thing you had going was work – you’d gotten the role you wanted, and even though you were a fucking train wreck on the inside, you were able to lock it away and focus. It was probably the only thing keeping you going, and it was most certainly the only thing you had to occupy your mind. When you’d gotten the call about the part, it was the best and worst feeling you’d ever had – you were so high from the phone call, but the second you hung up you realized you had no one to tell. Your mother would be happy, but she would almost definitely ask how things were going with Jeremy and you couldn’t talk about it – especially not with her. You almost called him right then and there – you had his number up, your finger hovering over the send button – but you didn’t. Instead you celebrated alone on the couch with a bottle of wine and a pint of ice cream – cookie dough, of course, because you were desperate to have some piece of him there with you to share in what should have been a wonderful day. But instead of waking up in his arms in bed, you woke up hung over on the couch with red wine lips and your hand in a puddle of melted ice cream, and the only thing worse than the pounding in your head and the ache in your heart was the knowledge that you’d become the kind of woman who lets herself fall to pieces over a man.

You were a few days into shooting the film and working the early shift at the bar on an off day when your phone started vibrating in your back pocket. You knew it was him before you even looked at it. You stared at his name lighting up the screen for a minute, frozen in place, deciding whether to pick up. It had been almost a full month since you’d heard a word from him and you didn’t even know what you would say. But things were slow at the bar, and at the very least you needed some closure from him, so you took the call and headed into the back room for some privacy.

“Hello,” you said. You tried to keep your tone emotionless but you heard your own voice crack and you knew you’d already blown it with a single word.

“Hey,” he said. He sounded terrible. “I got your message.”

Your heart started pounding in your chest and you started to feel dizzy. You’d gotten exceptionally obliterated the night before, alone as usual, and when you woke up in bed fully clothed you didn’t remember how you’d gotten there. You almost threw up when you realized you must have drunk dialed him.

“I don’t remember calling you,” you said. No point in lying now.

“I figured,” he said.

You sighed. “Do I even want to know what I said?” you asked. “I can’t imagine it was anything good.”

He was silent for a moment before he spoke. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Forget it,” you said. “I don’t even want to know. We need to talk, though.”

“I know we do,” he said. “I almost called you a hundred times but I don’t really know what to say.”

“Well figure it the fuck out and meet me at my place later.” It stung you a bit to call it “your place” instead of “home” but that’s what it was now, what it had been for a while.

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t go there.”

It hit you then that he would never be coming back, that things would never be the same again, and you felt the tears come.

“OK,” you said. “Well, I’m working tonight. Can you come here later?” You were squeaking out your words and you hated yourself for how pathetic you sounded to your own ears. He took a long pause before answering.

“I can’t go there either,” he said, and that’s when you flipped the switch from sadness to rage.

“Well, where the fuck can you go then?” you shouted. “Because if you think you don’t owe me a fucking explanation as to why you haven’t picked up the phone and called me in a fucking MONTH, then you are sorely mistaken.”

You heard him start to sniffle on the other end of the phone and you immediately regretted yelling.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just… there are certain places I can’t be right now. I’ll pick you up from work and we’ll take a drive, OK? I want- no, I _need_ to talk to you. I’ll explain everything, I promise. Please just… let’s take a drive?”

You hated that you’d found yourself back in that place where everything was on his terms but you agreed to it, and when you got off work he was waiting for you in the parking lot. He looked like complete shit, and he sounded even worse. He mumbled his hello and you walked up to him, stopping a few feet away. It felt wrong to hug him even though you longed to feel his warm body wrapped around you, so you just let your arms hang at your sides. You couldn’t remember what it was like to greet him without a hug and a kiss so you just stood there and didn’t say anything. He was having trouble looking you in the eyes and you watched him as he stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at his feet and then up to you and then down again. You finally broke the silence.

“So are you gonna open the door for me or are we gonna fucking stand here all night?”

He smiled. You missed that smile. You walked over to the passenger door of his truck and he opened it for you like he had so many times before, and when you were seated in the cab you took a deep breath full of him. You were crying again by the time he got in the driver’s seat. He looked over at you and you could see his lip quivering and his eyes begin to water.

“Don’t,” you said. “Just drive.”

You ended up parked at the darkened end of a cul-de-sac a few blocks from your condo. He said he couldn’t go any closer and you thought it was probably for the best. You couldn’t bear it if you ended up begging him to come inside and he refused you. You’d stopped trying to hold back your tears miles ago, and your head was already stuffed up and pounding by the time he started to speak. He stared straight forward into the darkness and you let your head rest on the closed window, looking into the kitchen of a nearby house where a woman was washing dishes. She seemed happy. You felt like you might throw up.

“I shouldn’t have left the way I did,” he began. He was trying to keep his voice steady but it was almost as pointless an endeavor as you trying to choke back your sobs. “I freaked out. I’m sorry. I love you. You have to know that I love you.”

You spoke for the first time since you’d been in the car. “That’s not how you treat someone you love.” Your voice was hoarse and your throat was sore from crying and it was painful to get the words out, but you had been waiting a month to say them and you needed him to hear you out. “I can understand you freaking out, I can even understand you not wanting to talk to me during filming, but what I can’t fucking understand is why you didn’t call me when you were done. Why? Why didn’t you call me?”

“I COULDN’T, OK?” He was crying now and his voice was raised, but he wasn’t angry. The dam had broken and he was shouting out all the things you knew he’d been holding in for weeks. “I just couldn’t. It wasn’t like I just walked off set when we were done and snapped my fucking fingers and I was myself again. I was fucked up. I’m STILL fucked up. I can’t even walk into a fucking bar without having a panic attack. My mind just snaps back to that place and all of a sudden it’s like I’m him and I’m there to do horrible things and I start to feel sick to my stomach. And I can’t talk to anyone about it because they just wouldn’t understand.”

“You could have talked to me!” you screamed. You were pleading with him to let you back in, though you knew in your heart that he never would. “I understand. I was fucking there. I understand more than anyone.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” he said softly. He sounded heartbroken and it shattered you. “You’re part of it, too. I can’t think about you without thinking about him. I can’t look at you without thinking about…” He trailed off, but you knew what he was thinking about. “I just can’t get him out of my fucking head. I’m trying but I can’t and I don’t know what the fuck to do.”

“Let me help you,” you whimpered. “Please. I love you.”

“It’s not enough,” he said. “Not anymore.” And then he was bawling, like saying the words made real what he’d been thinking since the moment he freaked out and left you.

“Please don’t do this,” you cried. “Please. Please don’t leave me.” You were begging now – the thing you’d sworn you’d never do – but you couldn’t help yourself. You felt him slipping away for good and you were so desperate to hold on to him that your pride and your vanity and your self-respect meant nothing in the face of losing him.

“I have to,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He was croaking out his words and the sound was so gut wrenching, their meaning so final, that you lost what little composure you had left.

You started to wail and you bent over, clutching your stomach and rocking slowly back and forth. You felt his hand on your back – completely still, like he didn’t know what to do with it, like he’d completely forgotten what it meant to comfort someone. You looked over at him and his face was streaked with tears. He was sobbing and his body was racked with the anguish of knowing he’d broken you, but in that moment you had to kiss him – one last time. You needed it like you needed air and you reached over and grabbed him. You thought maybe he’d push you away but you didn’t care.

You pounced on him and brought your mouth to his. You didn’t know whether the tears you tasted were his or yours, but you were overcome by that familiar musky scent of him and the flavor of his kiss. Just as suddenly as you’d come at him, he was pawing at you, returning your advance with even more ardor than you’d brought to it. It was a fervent mess of hands and lips and moans and sobs, and it lasted longer than it should have. You couldn’t bear to pull yourselves away from each other for more than a few moments, and when you did it was only to look each other in the eyes and whisper hopeless _I love yous._ There was nothing left to say after that, and when he offered to drop you at your door you refused.

“I’d rather walk,” you said, and you got out of the truck and closed the door.

You looked at him for a beat too long through the window and he reached his hand over and pressed it to the glass. You brought yours up on the other side and held it there for a moment, but when you saw him close his eyes and hang his head forward you took your hand away. You didn’t wait for him to open them before you took off down the street. You didn’t say the word “goodbye” – you couldn’t say it, you didn’t want to say it, and you refused to believe that this was the end. You harbored no delusions that the two of you would reconcile and live a long, happy life together, but you hoped that maybe, once he got himself right again, you could try to be friends. You were nearly home when you heard the distinct sound of his truck starting up in the distance and you pictured him sitting there alone in the dark all that time. But you had no idea what was going through his mind, maybe you’d never know again. You would have cried but you had no tears left.

It took you about a week but you were finally able to gather all his things and store them away. You couldn’t throw them out – not because you thought he’d come around to get them, but because it seemed hateful to you and you didn’t hate him for what he’d done. You still loved him, pointless as it was, and you knew that a part of you always would. When you took the picture from the frame beside your bed you held it in your hands for a long while, thinking that you would give anything and everything you had to go back to that day – to start over and erase all the ugliness that came after, to wipe away the dark chapter in your relationship and replace it with something as beautiful as that moment had been. But you could never go back there. What was done was done, and you felt like you bore the lion’s share of blame for it. The picture was all you had left to remind you of a time when things were simple and perfect. You tucked it away inside your favorite book and tried to forget what you’d lost.

You focused on work. Things were going really well and you’d even met someone you’d come to consider a friend. Molly worked in hair and makeup, and she was the type of woman who could chat your fucking ear off – whether you wanted her to or not – and always manage to get you to crack a smile. Your friendship started slow: chitchatting in the makeup trailer while she got you ready for your scenes, then coffee together during breaks, and eventually graduating to dinners and drinks. By the time you were ready to shoot your love scene, she knew almost all the gory details of your life, including your relationship with Jeremy. You’d left out some of the darker parts – there were some things nobody but you and he should ever know – but Molly knew everything she needed to be able to counsel you.

“You look nervous,” she said as she was touching up your face. “You’ve gotta relax, girl. It’s showing all over your face. It’s just a little tits and ass.”

“It’s not the nudity,” you said. “I don’t give a fuck about the nudity. It’s more… I don’t know.”

“The intimacy?” she asked. You hadn’t known each other that long, but Molly had you down already. “I know you haven’t been with anyone since Jeremy.”

“It sounds so fucking stupid when you say it like that,” you said. “It’s not like I’m actually fucking the guy. It’s just acting.”

But she was right – you were terrified of the intimacy factor. If it was a quick and dirty fuck scene you would have been good to go, but the scene was just the opposite. There was kissing and caressing and passionate lovemaking – all tastefully done, of course – but you were terrified of being that way with another man, even if you were only acting. The cameras didn’t even factor into it; it was the actual physical act of it that scared you. What scared you the most, though, was that you knew you’d be thinking of Jeremy.

“Don’t do it,” Molly said. She was looking at you with that goddamn sass face that made you want to smack her and hug her at the same time.

“Do what?” you asked, but you knew she was in your head.

“Think about him while you’re rollin’ around in the sheets with Aaron.”

“I wasn’t going to do that, Molls.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “I can see all over that pretty little face of yours. You think the only way you can get it right is to think about him while you’re doing it, but I’m telling you right now it won’t work.”

“Then what do you suggest?” you asked.

“Aaron’s pretty fucking hot,” she said. “It shouldn’t be that hard to act like you want to fuck him. Hell, I want to fuck him and I’m a lesbian.”

You both laughed your asses off at that and by the time they were ready for you, you were all business. You were naked to the waist, with a flesh-tone thong, and your co-star was wearing one of those ridiculous dick sock things and nothing else. You couldn’t help but laugh at it and he laughed with you. Aaron was nice enough – not at all your type, but he was a sweet guy and as good a person as any to do the scene with. You were at ease in your nakedness and you were ready to start. You decided to take Molly’s advice and shove Jeremy into the far recesses of your mind. There was no place for him here. You had to prove yourself if you wanted to be taken seriously, and pining over your ex-boyfriend during a love scene did not fit into your definition of professionalism.

It was even harder than you thought it would be. The feel of Aaron’s lips on you and the way he kissed was so alien – so different than what you’d come to know as love – that it took all you could muster to act like he was your beloved. It was hard to look into his chocolate brown eyes and feel passion. It was strange to feel his manicured hands on your skin. But the hardest thing of all was to listen to his voice say “I love you” and to have to say it back to him. You did it, though, and well. They had what they needed in two takes and before you knew it you were back in the trailer with Molly.

“So,” she said, “how big is his dick?”

You scowled and threw an empty water bottle at her head and she ducked, laughing.

“You don’t even like dick,” you said. “Why do you care?”

“Call it professional curiosity,” she said, but then her face changed and she looked at you with guilt in her eyes. “Soooo, I mighta fucked up. Don’t be mad, OK?”

“Oh, Jesus. What did you do this time?”

“I was talking to a friend of mine and turns out he was a PA on _Dahmer_. I may have mentioned that I was working with you right now and he may have said that he keeps in touch with Jeremy and he maybe almost definitely is going to tell him about it.” She bit her bottom lip and winced. “You mad? I’m sorry, it just sort of came out. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not mad,” you said, and you weren’t.

You would have loved to be able to tell Jeremy you’d gotten the part, but your last meeting was most certainly not the time for it and it was all still too fresh to try to navigate the waters of a possible friendship. The more you thought about it, the better you felt. You knew that, despite everything, he would be genuinely happy for you. You only wished you could have told him yourself and seen that little sparkle in his eyes when he smiled at the good news.

“Promise me you’re not mad,” she said, and you could tell she was legitimately concerned. It was a funny look on her since she was such a sarcastic bitch most of the time. You looked at her and smiled.

“I promise you I’m not mad,” you said, “but you are totally paying for dinner tonight.”

When you got home from dinner, you took a long, hot shower. Even though you’d washed your face and sprayed yourself with perfume you felt like you still smelled like Aaron. It felt strange and wrong and you just wanted to wash yourself clean and get a good night’s sleep. You’d been sleeping surprisingly well given the circumstances, able to crawl into bed and be out like a light within a few minutes instead of your usual hours of restless tossing and turning before sleep finally took you. That night you were out by 9:30, but you woke an hour later to the sound of your text alert beeping loudly on your nightstand. You cursed yourself for not putting it on vibrate and got yourself ready to chew Molly out for waking you up with whatever bullshit she was on about, but when you looked at the phone you saw the text was from Jeremy.

_Heard about the part. Really happy for you. Coffee sometime?_

You couldn’t help the butterflies that fluttered in your stomach but you didn’t respond right away. You didn’t know if you were ready yet, but you were happy that he was reaching out to you, that he had made the first move – whatever that move might be. Maybe it meant he was feeling better – like himself again – or maybe he was just trying to be nice, to do what he thought he should be doing. Either way, you didn’t expect anything from him. You wanted him; you’d never stopped wanting him, but you knew it was over. At this point, you’d settle for coffee if it meant you could see him smile again, but you couldn’t do it – not yet, anyway. After a respectable amount of time you grabbed your phone and texted him back.

_Thanks. Not quite ready for coffee but I’ll get there._

You put your phone down and rolled back over to sleep but the phone buzzed almost immediately.

_I need to see you. Just coffee. Ten minutes._

Now you were curious. You hated yourself for feeling hopeful but you couldn’t help it. Your mind started racing with all the possibilities of what that could mean, and even though you knew you should have waited to respond your fingers flew across the keys.

_Starbucks. 8am._

Within seconds he had replied.

_I’ll have it waiting. Black, no sugar._


	11. Chapter 11

You woke early, nervous about meeting up with Jeremy and determined to look your best. It was the type of thing you knew was stupid and vain – the thought that maybe, if you looked pretty enough, he would realize he’d made a horrible mistake and come back to you. Or at the very least, if he didn’t, he would feel the loss of you a little deeper. You debated whether or not to bring him his things but you decided not to. Part of you was hoping he’d come to his senses, that he’d texted you because he wanted to come back home; the part that knew better just didn’t want to give up what you had left of him.

When you arrived he was already there, seated at a table in the corner. He had your coffee ready, as promised, and when you entered you saw his eyes go wide. He fumbled a bit as he stood up, and as you walked over to him you found yourself wondering what the protocol was for this type of thing. A hug? A kiss on the cheek? A fucking handshake? You had no idea and you could tell he didn’t either as he leaned in awkwardly, brushing his face against yours and kissing mostly air. He had a bit of chin stubble and you got chills from the way the coarse hairs pricked at your skin.

“Hey,” you said. “You’re looking better.”

“I’m feeling better,” he replied, and you both sat down.

“That’s good to hear,” you said, “but I really don’t have much time. I have to be on set in an hour. What did you need to talk to me about?”

“Well, first of all – congratulations,” he said, and you smiled. “I would ask you a thousand questions but I know you have to go so I’ll just say what I need to say.”

“I’m listening,” you said. His tone was almost normal but there was something a bit off – whether it was awkwardness or anxiety or something else entirely you didn’t know, but you found yourself holding your breath before he spoke.

“I’m just gonna cut through the bullshit,” he said. “I need you in my life. I really do. It was stupid of me to think that pushing you away was going to fix all my problems.”

He paused, looking down into his coffee, before he continued. You were silent, wondering in what capacity he wanted you, but not willing to ask him straight out.

“I still love you,” he said. “I’m still _in love_ with you. But right now I just really need a friend. You understand me, and you know me better than anyone else. I need that right now. I need you.”

You didn’t know quite how to react. You remained calm, taking a sip of your coffee and absorbing his words before you spoke.

“I want to be there for you,” you said. “You know that. I told you that, and you said no.”

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” you said, “you did. And now I’m supposed to pretend like that never happened? I’m supposed to just ignore the fact that I still have these feelings for you and just be all buddy-buddy? That’s not going to work, for either of us, and you know it.”

He looked devastated and it cut you deep. It pained you to see him that way, and even though you knew the words you’d spoken were true, you started to regret saying them. He took a long pause, looking pensive, before he spoke.

“You’re probably right,” he said, “but can we at least try?”

He sounded so desperate and you knew it was a mistake to go along with it, but the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes – so vulnerable and afraid of losing you for good – made everything else irrelevant. You sighed, and with that breath you let go of all the common sense you had left.

“Alright,” you said, “we can give it a try. I always did think we’d be friends no matter what, but this is just a little sooner than I expected.”

He grabbed your hands across the table and the feel of his rough palms on your skin set you tingling. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said, and you raised your coffee cup for a toast. “Cheers, to what is almost certainly a terrible idea.”

You laughed and he laughed with you, and at that moment it was worth it just to hear that sound again and see the twinkle in his eye that only came out when he was truly happy about something.

“I really have to go, though,” you said. “Do you want to have dinner or something? I’ve got plans tonight, but maybe later this week?”

The look in his eyes when you said you had plans held both curiosity and dread, and you knew he was thinking about the possibility that you had a date. You could have told him you were cooking dinner for Molly, but you let him wonder.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Does Friday work?”

Friday. Date night. Of course he would suggest Friday – because it wasn’t going to be difficult enough already. You conceded, though. He would always have that power over you.

“Friday sounds good. I’ve gotta run. Call me – we’ll figure something out.”

You rose from your seat and grabbed your coffee for the road, and just as you were about to turn to leave he pulled you into a hug. You let it happen, even hugged him back – perhaps a little tighter and a little longer than you should have – and he whispered in your ear.

“You have no idea how much I need this.”

Driving to set, you couldn’t stop thinking about what that meant, whether he meant the friendship or the physical contact you gave to him, or maybe some combination of the two. Your head was spinning by the time you got into the makeup trailer. Molly was ready and waiting for you. You were scared to tell her but you had to.

“You did what now?” she exclaimed. “Are you fucking stupid or do you just enjoy torturing yourself?”

“Look,” you said, “I know it’s not the brightest idea I’ve ever had, but he needs me.”

“And what about what YOU need?” she said. She seemed genuinely angry, and you sat silently for a while as she worked on you, really thinking about the question.

“I need him, too,” you replied. “I hate that I do, but it’s the truth.”

Molly rolled her eyes and shook her head. “It’s too soon,” she said. “This isn’t going to end well.”

“Maybe not,” you said, “but I have to try.”

Molly wouldn’t let it go, and over dinner that night she really laid into you.

“I just want to recap the situation,” she said, “just so I’m clear: he’s still in love with you, you’re still in love with him, and you are going to try to be just friends with him because he’s in some fucked up kind of headspace and he says he needs you.”

“That pretty much sums it up, yeah,” you said, sipping your wine.

“The guy who didn’t call you for a month and basically turned you into a zombie? This is the guy we’re talking about, right?”

You sighed. “You don’t understand, Molls. It’s complicated.”

“Oh, I fucking understand – believe me,” she said. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

“What don’t I get?” you snapped. “Please, enlighten me.”

“You just can’t see it and it pisses me off because you are so much better than this,” she said. “He knows he can have you whatever way he wants you, whenever he wants you, and you – for some reason I cannot fucking fathom – will just go along with it. And you know there’s no way in hell you’re not gonna start fucking him again, right? Please tell me you know that.”

You were getting aggravated now and you started to raise your voice.

“He’s not like that,” you said. “You don’t know him. Don’t act like you fucking know him because you don’t. And I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Bullshit,” she said. “You’re gonna go to this ‘friend’ dinner and stare into those dreamy eyes of his and your panties are going to fly off before the fucking check comes. Don’t be stupid.”

You lost it and you spoke the truth you’d been trying to ignore. “SO WHAT? WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH THAT?”

“There it is,” she said, her voice calm. “At least you admitted it.”

“Admitted what?”

“That you’re gonna try to fuck him ‘til he loves you again.”

It was a slap in the face, but you knew in your heart she was right. You hated that she was, but you couldn’t deny it.

“He already loves me,” you mumbled.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” she said, “but he said himself that it wasn’t enough.”

You buried your hands in your hair and tried to stave off the headache you felt coming on.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Molls.”

“That’s painfully obvious,” she said, and she paused before continuing. “Look, I’m not trying to upset you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt any more than you already have. And you’re right – I don’t know him. But I know you, and I know what happened and I just… I would be the worst friend in the world if I let this shit go without saying something.”

You looked up at her and you could see the concern written on her face.

“You’re a good friend,” you said, “and I appreciate you saying what you said. I needed to hear it. But I have to see where this goes, Molls. I just have to. If it goes south, it’s on me, but I have to try. I love him. I can’t help it.”

She sighed, resigned to the fact that you were going to do whatever you wanted and there was nothing she could do to stop you.

“Alright,” she said, “give it a try. I hope it works out – I really do – and you know I’ll be here for you if it doesn’t.” She sighed and started to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” you asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “I just will never understand what it is about love that turns even the smartest people into complete fucking morons.”

“I’ll drink to that,” you said, and you clinked glasses.

“So,” she said, “have you decided about the move?”

You had been contemplating breaking your lease for a while. You just couldn’t bear to stay in your condo anymore. It was too hard to be there without him, and if you were honest with yourself, the fact that he would never come back there was a factor in your decision.

“Yeah, I talked to my landlord. He’s gonna let me out of the lease early. I found a new place.”

“Well,” she said, “I would toast to a fresh start but that seems kind of pointless.”

You sighed and shrugged your shoulders. There was nothing left to say.

Friday night came and you were on your way to meet up with Jeremy. The days prior had seemed to creep by, but now that it was upon you it seemed like it had been just moments since you were sitting with him over coffee. You were nervous; it felt like a first date, the irony of which was not lost on you. You ended up at Barney’s Beanery in West Hollywood – it was packed and loud and the antithesis of romantic, which is exactly what it needed to be. You were dressed down as much as you could be while still looking respectable enough to leave the house; he was wearing that fucking leather jacket and it was making you angry. You remembered the smell of it and the way it felt when he had wrapped it around you, and you were happy for one brief moment when he went to take it off only to be confronted by the sight of his arms. He looked like he’d been working out and you had to resist the urge to reach out and run your hands over his muscles. You’d barely said a word and you knew already this was going to be impossible.

“So,” he said. “Tell me about the movie.”

You gave him the basic plot summary and talked a little bit about your character. You left out the fact that there was a love scene but somehow he knew. You used to love the way he could read your mind; now it was just inconvenient, and potentially dangerous given all the thoughts running through your head. When he asked you point blank about it, you paused a bit too long before answering. He looked hurt – almost as if you’d cheated on him – and it pissed you off. You let it go, though. You had to if you had any chance of making this work.

“It’s pretty tame,” you said.

“How naked are you?”

You couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. You knew he was thinking it, but he really wasn’t holding back a thing. If you hadn’t been so aggravated by the question, you would have respected him for having the balls to ask it. You snapped back at him.

“Why do you care?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just… strange to think of you like that.”

You rolled your eyes. “You should know better than anyone that it doesn’t mean anything. It’s a job, and I’m happy about it, so can we talk about something else? How are you doing?”

“I’m getting there,” he said, “but I still have my moments. I guess I just need time and distance from it. It was really fucking intense.”

“Would you do it again?” you asked. It was a question you’d been wondering for weeks.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I really don’t. I think it could be good for my career, but you never know. I guess I’ll have to wait and see if it was worth it.”

“Well, I hope it ends up that way,” you said. And you really did, because if it didn’t then everything you’d been through, everything you’d lost, would have been for nothing. You didn’t want to think about that possibility so you changed the subject.

“I’m moving next week,” you said, and he perked up when he heard you. “I’d make you help me but I know how you feel about the condo.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll help. I want to help.”

You were completely baffled and it must have shown all over your face.

“I think it might be good for me,” he said. “Facing fears and all that shit. Besides, you can barely lift your laundry basket.”

You laughed. You were still a bit taken aback by his offer, but you weren’t about to say no.

“That would be really great, actually,” you said. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he said, and he smiled. “That’s what friends are for.”

When you were about to go your separate ways you had an awkward moment out in the parking lot. He walked you to your car and you unlocked it, but you didn’t get in. You just turned and stood there, waiting for something, though you had no idea what. In your heart you wanted him to push you up against the car and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. But he just stood there looking at you and you had no idea where his head was at, and at that moment you longed for the days when you could read each other like words on a page.

“Goodnight,” he said, and he reached out and hugged you. It was short but strong and you wanted more.

You drove home, irate and confused, not knowing if you were angry with him or angry with yourself or both. You didn’t know what you expected to come out of this little experiment in friendship; all you knew was that his smell was lingering on your clothes and you could still feel it where his scruff had rubbed against your cheek. And then there were his eyes. Before he’d hugged you goodbye, you’d seen it – it was brief, but it was there: that look he always had before he kissed you. You thought for that split second that he might, and you would have kissed him back, but he didn’t. When you got home you had a bunch of texts from Molly inquiring about the evening’s progress, interjected with crude and/or sarcastic remarks, and ending with a plea for a phone call when you got home. You didn’t call her, but you did send her a text.

_I didn’t fuck him. Happy?_

She replied almost instantly.

_You wanted to, though._

You growled at your phone and chucked it across the room into a pile of dirty laundry. You loved her and hated her at that moment – because she was right, and it pained you to acknowledge it. There was no point in lying to yourself about it. If he’d dropped his pants in that parking lot and bent you over the hood of your car you would have let him fuck you into next week. In spite of yourself you went and grabbed the picture out of its hiding spot and you sat on your bed, staring at it for a while. You thought about kissing him under the blanket of desert stars, about the heat from your bodies coming together in the tent when you’d made love, and before you knew it you were stripped naked from the waist and fingering your clit in hard circles.

You thought about the way his pillowy lips used to crash into yours when he wanted you so badly his whole body was buzzing. You thought about the way his rough hands used to roam greedily across your body. You thought about the magic he used to work with his tongue wherever he chose to place it. But when you came you weren’t thinking about him fucking you; you’d brought yourself close with the image of him naked and glistening with sweat on top of you, but what brought you over the edge was the thought of him in his own bed, at that very moment, stroking his cock while thinking of you. You came hard, a few times, and when you were done you lay sprawled on your bed, breathing heavy and wondering what the fuck you were doing with your life.

You slipped on some boy shorts and put the picture back out of view where it belonged, but it didn’t matter. He was burned into your mind, and he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. You had to laugh at yourself as you turned the lights out and got back in bed. Given how the evening had gone, a little masturbation with a side of self-loathing seemed as appropriate a way as any to end your day. Thankfully, you didn’t dream of him that night, or if you did you couldn’t recall it, and when you woke, for the briefest of moments, you found yourself wishing that everything you’d been through with him – the good and the bad – had all just been a dream you couldn’t really remember.

You had coffee with him once more before moving day. You mostly just talked logistics but he managed to sneak in a few questions about how your work was going. He had the subtlety of a fucking woodpecker when it came to your leading man, and as much as you’d always hated to play games, you couldn’t help but derive a little satisfaction from it. You were evasive but not misleading, and you could tell it was getting under his skin. You let it go on a moment longer than you should have before you left for work. He’d hugged you goodbye again, longer this time, and he’d let his hand wander to the small of your back – that little gesture you’d always associated with him claiming you as his own. You left feeling smug, like you’d turned the tables on him. You’d been floating around for days feeling pathetic and needy, but with that one simple movement, you felt like you’d regained some sense of control. It was brief but satisfying, and it carried you through to moving day.

It was already hot as hell outside and it was still pretty early in the morning. He arrived in jeans and one of those fucking man tank tops that showed every muscle and curve. He was already sweating as he put on his work gloves and you had to stop yourself from staring. It was going to be a long day. You had everything boxed up and ready, and you were able to carry a lot yourself. The box of books was far too heavy for you, though, and when you pointed it out to him he swept it up and carried it to the U-Haul on one shoulder. Even though you could see his muscles flexing under its weight, he made it look easy, and when he’d placed the box in the truck and hopped out he caught you staring and winked. You had to diffuse your embarrassment with a comment or you knew you’d turn bright red.

“Show off,” you said, and he smiled.

“Just doin’ my job, ma’am,” he replied, and feigned a tip of the hat.

He was in a playful mood, and you liked that. Part of you had expected him to have some sort of breakdown being back at the condo, but he seemed like he wasn’t affected by it at all. It made you happy. Your Jeremy was coming back, slowly but surely, and it gave you hope. You knew it was best not to dwell on that, though, so you simply enjoyed his company, grateful for his help.

It was late afternoon by the time everything was loaded up. You’d split your things between the truck you rented and his pickup, and you drove separately to your new place. You got there first and when you walked in you felt a sense of calm wash over you. Maybe it wasn’t completely a fresh start, but walking around the place gave you a sense that you had unburdened yourself by leaving your condo behind. It felt nice, new, different, and you knew you’d made the right decision. Jeremy liked it, too, and as he walked around surveying the place with you he commented on the features that made it special – the kind of things he loved about doing houses. It was no mansion in the Hills, but it was cute and it had character, and you could tell he appreciated the little touches.

“I like it,” he said. “You chose well.”

“Thanks,” you replied. “I do, on occasion, make good decisions.”

It just sort of slipped out and you looked at each other for a moment, but you both decided to let it go without commentary. You made a mental note to yourself to think before you spoke – not something you were good at, but something vital to this whole friendship thing working.

Everything was going smoothly and you had everything inside except the couch. You’d saved it for last – probably not the best idea since by then you were both fatigued and dripping sweat. He had it at one end, walking backwards, and you had the other, but you could not for the life of you get it through the door. You tried tilting and lifting every which way but you kept getting jammed up.

“Fuck it,” he said. “Let’s just push it through and if we fuck up the doorframe I’ll just fix it for you.”

“OK,” you said, “what do you want me to do?”

“Push as hard as you can, really throw your body into it,” he said. “I’ll pull. On three.”

He counted down and when he got to three you gave it everything you had. You could hear him straining on the other end, but nothing was happening.

“Keep pushing,” he said. “Hard as you can.”

You dug deep and pushed and you heard the sound of the doorframe wood splitting, and all of a sudden it was through and you lost your balance and fell onto the floor, coming down hard on your elbow.

“FUCK!” you screamed, and he rushed to your side and crouched down on the floor next to you.

“Are you OK?” he asked. You could see the love in his eyes then, and when he gingerly took your arm in his hand and examined your elbow you felt yourself fall in love with him all over again.

“It’s a little scraped up but it’s not really bleeding,” he said, and then he looked at you. It was that look again – the _I want to kiss you_ look – and this time he did it.

In a flash he was on you, kissing you deep with his hands buried in your hair. His kiss was voracious and you both moaned against each other’s lips. You missed that sound, and you could tell he did too, since with every sound of pleasure that came out of you he went at you a little harder. He pulled away and stood you up, kicking the door closed and pushing you up against the wall as he let his hands travel across your body. You were both covered in sweat and dirt and dust but you didn’t care – that made it even hotter, and you felt yourself dripping wet as he tore at your clothes. You grabbed the neckline of his tank and ripped it straight down the middle, exposing his chest and running your hands over it before you started to take his pants off. He’d already stripped you from the waist down and had two fingers pumping away at you, and when you got his jeans and boxers down over his ass he didn’t wait a moment longer. He heaved you up and entered you in one swift motion and you cried out as he started to fuck you hard against the wall. You let your chin rest on his shoulder and moaned into his ear and he did the same.

“Oh God, I missed this,” he said. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Fuck me, baby,” you cried. “Fill me up.”

“You like that? You like when I fuck that tight little pussy?”

“I fucking love it,” you said, and he groaned before letting your legs fall and laying you down.

You could feel the carpet rubbing you raw as he pounded you into the floor but you didn’t care. You wrapped your legs around his ass and pulled him into you and you gripped his arms so tight you thought you might leave bruises. He was panting and moaning and cursing as your sweat-slicked bodies slid against each other, and when you felt his arms quiver you knew he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. You pushed him onto his back and straddled him, easing yourself down his length and bringing a deep moan out of him. You rode him hard and your knees were burning from the rug beneath you. He watched you the whole time, mouth open and eyes hungry. His hands were placed firmly on your hips, pushing and pulling you against him so he could hit every spot he knew set you off. When he could feel you close he held you in place and bucked his hips, slamming into you with a force that left you breathless. He let out a low growl as you brought your hand down to your clit and worked yourself in time with his thrusts, and it wasn’t long before you came so hard you saw white spots dance in front of your eyes. The sound he made when he felt you come around him was like music. You looked in his eyes and he smiled up at you – that wicked smile that told you he wasn’t done with you yet, not even close.

He fucked you on the couch; he fucked you on the kitchen counter; he fucked you on the bare mattress lying on the floor of your bedroom, and by the time he was done you’d lost track of how many times you both came. You remembered how it sounded, though, and the way his eyes looked when he spilled himself into you over and over until he had nothing left in him. You ended up in a sweaty mess on the floor in the bedroom, wrapped up together in silence. You let your head rest on his bare chest and listened to his heart pounding. With each deep breath he took your head rose and fell, and you drowned yourself in the smell and feel of him next to you. Your mind was empty at that moment. You didn’t want to think about what it meant or what would happen next. You’d waited so long to have him back, and regardless of what would come from this, you wanted this moment – you needed it – and you could tell he felt the same. Neither of you broke the silence. For one night at least, you would go without words.


	12. Chapter 12

_I made a mistake._

His words echoed in your head for days after the move. You’d woken up blissful but he wasn’t next to you. He was already up, for how long you didn’t know, but he was pacing the apartment, waiting for you to rise, and the first thing out of his mouth wasn’t “Good morning” as it should have been. You’d gotten in a vicious argument, both said things you didn’t mean – or, at least, you didn’t mean your part; you could only hope he didn’t either. Blame was thrown around, harsh words were spoken, and when he left you sat for a while just staring at the door – back in the same place you’d been the last time he’d run out on you. You thought to yourself that it was the last straw, you were finished with him, and nothing he could say or do would ever change your mind. But his love was like a drug, and as bad as you knew he was for you now, you could only go so long without a fix.

Molly was there for you as promised, but she was, to say the least, quite vocal about her displeasure. You wouldn’t have expected any less from her, though, and over drinks the next night she tried to knock some sense into you.

“I know you want to think of him how he used to be,” she said, “but he’s not that person anymore. The guy you fell in love with would never have left you like that. I think it’s time you wake the fuck up and see that this whole experience turned him into a different person. It happens. People change. Things fall apart.”

“I think he’s still in there, though,” you said. Maybe you just wanted to believe it, but you felt it needed to be said. “He’s just working through his issues. Can you sit there and honestly tell me you’ve never hurt someone you loved because you were fucked up in the head? Can you?”

Molly sighed. “I have,” she said, and she looked down into her drink. You could tell it still pained her to think about it, but you needed to know more if she was going to get through to you.

“What happened?” you asked.

“It was my first girlfriend. I had only just come out before we started dating and I was still confused and scared and didn’t really know what I was doing. We ended up in a fight one night – I said some things, nasty things. I still regret it, but I didn’t expect her to take me back afterwards. That’s the difference.”

“But you still loved her though, right?”

“Of course I did,” she said, “but there are some things you just can’t come back from. And before you ask, yes, we were able to be friends eventually, but it took years before that was possible. We both needed distance from what happened. We needed to move on first.” She paused. “You need to move on, hon.”

“I don’t think I can,” you said. “The thought of being with anyone else makes me sick.”

“So don’t be with anyone else, then,” she said. “It’s OK to be single. You don’t have to go trolling for some rebound fuck. That’s not you, anyway, and you’ll feel like shit about yourself if you do that.”

“You’re right,” you said. And she was. She was always right. It was annoying but necessary, and you looked at her and smiled, truly grateful to have her in your life. “I have to end this.”

“So you promise me you won’t call him?” she asked.

“I promise,” you replied.

And you didn’t. You kept that promise to her, at least. You hadn’t spoken a word to him since the fight – no calls or texts from either side – and in your mind it was over. You’d gotten rid of his things, much as it pained you, but you kept the picture; you would always keep the picture. You couldn’t help but think about him constantly, though. You felt like, after all you’d been through with him, you needed some kind of closure. You didn’t want to move on knowing that things with him ended on such an awful note – because he was the love of your life, and there was so much good there in addition to the bad. You just couldn’t imagine living the rest of your life knowing that something so beautiful had ended up so ugly.

It was obvious he felt the same when, about a week after the move, he showed up at your door at around 10pm just as you were about to get into bed. You could tell he’d been crying. In your initial anger you wanted to send him back to wherever he’d come from but you let him in. You wanted an apology for the things he’d said, and you had some things to apologize for as well. You wanted to end it, but not as it stood.

“You can’t just show up like this,” you said. You had your arms crossed in front of you and the bitchiest look you could manage on your face. “In and out, whenever the fuck you feel like it. It’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I needed to see you.” You couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just distraught and you didn’t care.

“And what about what I need?” you shouted. Molly’s words had finally gotten through to you and you were determined to stand your ground. “Does it even occur to you? Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” he said. “I just don’t know what you want. Tell me what you want.”

“Well, first off, maybe don’t fuck me and then tell me I was a mistake in the morning.”

“I never said _you_ were a mistake,” he said. “I would never say that. I just said I thought us sleeping together again was a mistake.”

“Oh, really?” you asked. “Because if memory serves, _you_ kissed _me_. You started it. I was willing to go along with the friend thing and be there for you because I fucking love you and I hate that you’re in pain, and then you go and fuck me over again. What do you even want from me?”

“I want to be with you,” he said. He was crying now. “I do. But I don’t know how anymore. I just want things to be like they were.”

You felt the tears start to well in your own eyes and you tried so hard not to cry. You needed to be strong this time.

“Things are never going to be like they were,” you said. Your voice was somehow calm even though you were screaming inside. It hurt so badly to know that you both wanted the exact same thing – to get back what you’d lost – but you couldn’t see any way to get there.

“There has to be a way,” he said. “I love you, you love me – there just has to be.”

“There isn’t,” you said, and you knew your words to be true. “You were right when you said it isn’t enough anymore.”

He broke down and fell to his knees in front of you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You could feel his hot tears against the skin showing between the tank top and boy shorts you were wearing and it shattered you. His desperate pleas were muffled as he pressed his face to your body. When he started dusting your stomach with kisses you felt it start, that familiar ache for him. You tried to push it away but your own arousal betrayed you. He moaned against the fabric of your shorts, breathing you in, and you brought your hands down into his hair. When he looked up at you with those eyes you knew you were done for.

 _One last time_ , you thought. _To say goodbye._

He brought his hands around and hooked his fingers under the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down just under your hipbones before kissing a line from one side to the other.

“Tell me you want me to stop and I will,” he whispered.

But you didn’t want him to stop. You tightened your grip on his hair and threw your head back as he pulled your shorts lower and lower until they were on the ground at your feet. You stepped out of them and as he kissed his way down you mumbled.

“This is the last time.”

You spoke so softly you weren’t quite sure if he heard you, but you stopped caring when you felt his lips wrap around your clit and the tip of his tongue moving slowly up and down. He had a light grip on your hips as he lapped at you and every so often he would pull away and moan against you, and the vibration coupled with his hot breath on your flesh made you moan with him. He licked you slow and deliberate, like he wanted to savor every inch of you, and you took your hands from his hair and brought them behind you, bracing yourself on the back of the couch and lifting one leg onto his shoulder. He turned his head and dotted your thigh with gentle kisses, and you watched him. He had his eyes closed but you saw his long lashes flutter as his eyelids quivered. His chin stubble tickled at your thigh as he kissed you and you made yourself focus on every sensation, every move he made. You wanted to remember him this way – the loving, caring version of him that had been gone for so long.

He stood up and cradled the back of your neck before he kissed you, taking your upper lip into his mouth as you wrapped your arms around him. It was a loving kiss, not deep and hungry like the last time, and you felt a single tear fall from your eye. He pulled out of the kiss and looked at you with those eyes that seemed to shine with every color of the rainbow, cupping your face before he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“Then take me to bed,” you replied.

You hopped up into his strong arms and he carried you to the bedroom, laying you down gently and crouching over you. He slipped his hands under your tank top and ran them over your stomach and your breasts, stopping for a moment to cup them in his hands and relish the feel of your hard nipples between his fingers. He peeled your shirt off and stood back at the edge of the bed, looking down at you as if trying to burn that image of you into his mind. You did the same as he stripped himself down, and soon he was back between your legs, holding your thighs aloft as he continued to pleasure you. You knew he wanted to make you come as many times as he could – to give you his love the only way he knew how anymore – and he brought you there with slow and tender care, kissing and licking your clit as he pushed his fingers inside you. He knew every inch of you by now and he went straight for your G-spot, moving the rough pads of his fingertips in firm, slow circles and applying just enough pressure to make you come in slow waves around him. You made the sounds you knew he liked, but you didn’t say his name. You couldn’t say it. Not yet.

When he knew you had finished he crawled on top of you, straddling you and leaning down to kiss the spot on your neck he knew made you dizzy. You ran a hand through his hair and held him close, taking short, quivering breaths as he kissed his way down to your breasts. He took them in his strong hands, somehow firmly and delicately at the same time, and kissed every inch of your chest before taking your nipples – one then the other – into his mouth. He didn’t suck or nibble; he just kissed as he would your lips, and by the time he was done you were throbbing. You needed him – one last time – and this time you knew he wanted to make love and not fuck.

You both moaned in unison as he entered you, inching his way inside until he’d filled you up completely. You wrapped your legs around him and he stayed absolutely still inside of you, just holding your face as he kissed you. You tightened your grip on him and kept him there, moving your hips a little beneath him to get that friction you craved and get him as deep inside of you as you possibly could, and he moaned into your mouth when he felt you rub up against him. He pulled back a bit and started to move, each stroke almost painfully slow as he gave you his full length with each gentle thrust. You knew then he wanted it to last as long as possible – that he understood that you meant it when you said it would be the last time.

You brought your arms up over your head and he moved his hands from your face, running them up the expanse of smooth skin to your hands where they gripped the headboard. He pried your hands away from it and interlaced his fingers with yours as he continued his tender motions. He looked you deep in the eyes and you gripped his hands so tightly it almost hurt. You could have stayed that way forever; neither of you wanted to let go. Your body’s need was strong, though, and when he started to roll his hips with each thrust you felt your toes curl. You knew it was about to happen but you didn’t want it. You wanted to drag it out as long as you could, but he was hitting all your spots and making those breathy moaning sounds that could almost set you off on their own. You couldn’t help yourself. You felt the fire rise inside you and it hit you hard, and when you came you let his name fall from your lips as your walls pulsed around him. He let out a groan when he felt you coming and he watched you. There was sadness in his eyes and you knew he was close. He tried to hold out but he couldn’t, and when you felt his tempo shift and his breathing change you whispered a delicate “I love you.”

The sound he made as he spilled himself into you broke your heart; it was at once a moan and a whimper, and you could tell that his pleasure couldn’t counter the deep despair of knowing he would never have you again. He fell trembling on top of you when he was finished and you held him tight to you, feeling his tears fall freely onto your shoulder. He stayed inside you for a long time and you kept him there, your bodies wordlessly wrapped up together, both of you crying softly and mourning the loss of what you once had. It could have been ten minutes or it could have been an hour by the time you separated, and though he hadn’t even gone yet, the absence of his weight on top of you left you feeling cold and empty.

It didn’t need to be said; he knew he had to leave, but it didn’t make it any easier. He dressed himself and you stayed in bed, sheets wrapped around you like some sort of security blanket to hold yourself together, and when he was ready to go he came to your bedside and leaned down.

“You’ll be in my heart forever,” he said, and he planted a gentle kiss on your forehead.

You wanted to tell him you loved him, that you’d always love him, that no one would ever replace him in that part of your heart that belonged to him alone, but all you could say was, “Goodbye, Jeremy.”

He walked towards the doorway and stopped, turning to look at you. You knew he was wondering if he’d ever see you again, and you were wondering the same, so you just looked at each other for a moment too long. Before he turned to leave, he smiled the saddest smile you would ever see, and when you heard the front door close the sound it made startled you. It was so final – the sound of a part of your life closing for good – but you couldn’t cry any more, not that night anyway. You couldn’t sleep so you stared up at the ceiling, playing back all the little moments that had made the pain worth it. And it was worth it, you decided, because even though you’d lost him, he’d taught you what real love was and all the things it could be. You would always be grateful for that. It was something every woman should know.

Somehow you made it through your last few days of filming. You were a wreck, but you had Molly, and you soldiered through it knowing you’d done the right thing. She’d been unhappy that you’d slept with him one last time but she understood, and she tried to take it easy on you. She knew you were in enough pain already and it was enough for her to know that you weren’t going back to him. You didn’t want to go to the wrap party but she forced you.

“You need to have some fun,” she said. “What are you gonna do? Sit around your apartment and feel sorry for yourself? Fuck that, we’re getting drunk and we’re dancing and you’re gonna have a good time if it kills me.”

You agreed to go, but you were still feeling like a shell of yourself. You sat in a booth at the corner of the bar, drowning your feelings in whiskey and watching other people laugh and dance and smile without a care in the world. Molly let you sulk for a while before she started to badger you.

“OK,” she said. “Half an hour. That’s enough. I’ve let you sit here and wallow in your own misery. Now we’re doing shots and you’re dancing.”

“Molls, I really don’t feel like it,” you said.

“I don’t give a shit,” she said. “Get your tight little ass up out of that booth and come take a shot with me.”

You laughed. She could always make you laugh.

“Alright,” you said, and you followed her to the bar.

Your appetite had been non-existent and as soon as the first tequila shot went down you could feel yourself getting drunk. You should have stopped there but you didn’t. The first one loosened you up, and by the third you didn’t give a fuck anymore. Molly dragged you onto the dance floor and you both went crazy. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d let yourself go and just danced with abandon and it felt good. You were having fun at last – giggling and smiling, and even though you were pretty shitfaced, you started to feel more like yourself again. After a few songs you needed to sit down. You were a sweaty mess and you needed a glass of water, so Molly went over to the bar to get you one as you sat, buzzed and flushed, just watching everyone at the party.

You didn’t even notice when Aaron sidled into the booth next to you.

“Having fun?” he asked. He had a million-dollar smile but you weren’t remotely interested. He was nice, though. No need to be rude.

“Yeah,” you said. “I’m glad I came. I wasn’t going to.” You knew you were drunk and about to over-share but you couldn’t stop it.

“Why wouldn’t you come?” he asked. “You’re a huge part of this movie. It wouldn’t be the same without you here.”

“That’s sweet of you to say,” you replied. “I’ve just been a little down lately. Guy problems.”

He looked at you and you could tell he knew some of the story. Sometimes L.A. felt even smaller than your hometown, especially the indie film world.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about all that,” he said. “He must be some kind of idiot to let you go.”

You should have been pissed off, and there was a time when you would have been. You would have acted indignant and defended Jeremy’s honor and stomped off in a huff, but instead you let a playful smile form on your lips and looked at Aaron.

“Yeah,” you said, “I guess he is.”

“Dance with me,” he said, and you smiled. It wasn’t a command but it wasn’t a question. The tequila was pumping through your bloodstream and you were happily riding the high. You followed him to the dance floor without reservation.

Some stupid pop song you’d heard a thousand times was booming through the speakers and you started to move to the beat, swinging your hips and bouncing your tits a little harder than you should have – and before you knew what was happening your body was pressed to Aaron’s and you were full-on grinding on the dance floor in full view of the entire cast and crew. Everybody was pretty drunk, and no one seemed to be paying much attention, but you started to feel self-conscious. You grabbed him by his shirt.

“Come on,” you said, and you dragged him off the dance floor to the hallway beyond.

You stumbled a little when you reached the hallway and he reached out and caught you before you fell. He held you tight in his arms and you looked up at him; when he looked down at you the tequila took over. You ended up making out against the wall next to the supply closet, hidden away in a dark corner where no one could see you. It was a sloppy, drunken mess. He had his hands on your ass, squeezing it tight, and you were clawing at his back as he pushed his hips against you. You let it happen, not exactly enjoying it but not hating it either, but when he brought his hand up to your face you had a moment of clarity and you pushed him away and wiped your face.

“I’m so sorry,” you said. “I can’t do this.”

“It’s OK,” he said. His voice was kind. “I get it.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you said, and you buried your face in your hands. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

You ran off to go find Molly and when you spotted her on the dance floor you dragged her over to the booth and told her what happened.

“Oh Christ,” she said. “You’re drunk as shit, hon. Let me put you in a cab.”

You agreed and she gathered your things for you, holding you up as you wobbled out of the bar on heels that were way too high. She managed to snag you a cab and get you into it.

“Call me when you’re home,” she said, “or I’ll worry. I’ll come over in the morning.”

“Thanks, Molls,” you mumbled. You were slurring your words and your vision was blurry, and you thought you might be sick in the cab as the driver sped towards your place. You had to focus on something other than the city whipping past you through the windows so you took out your phone.

It just happened. You didn’t mean for it to happen; you didn’t want it to happen, but it did. You pulled up Jeremy’s number and you texted him.

_Something bad happened i need you can you come over_

After a few minutes your phone lit up. You could barely even read the screen.

_Are you OK?_

It took you almost a full minute to type _No._

You waited and waited for him to respond, although what felt like an eternity to you was probably only a few minutes. Your phone buzzed in your hand and you squinted to read the words.

_I’m on my way_

You fell in your driveway getting out of the cab and the driver was nice enough to help you to your door. You were lucky he was a nice man and not a pervert because he could have easily taken advantage of the situation. Instead, he unlocked your door for you and made sure you got inside.

“Call your friend, Miss,” he said, “and be more careful next time. There are a lot of creeps out there.”

He left and you sat waiting for Jeremy. You should have called Molly but you didn’t. You just texted her _Home_ and left it at that. You didn’t want to hear her voice; you wanted to hear his. You wanted to feel his arms around you, hugging you, telling you how much he loved you and that everything was going to be OK. When the doorbell rang you jumped up so fast you got dizzy, and you could barely make it to the door. You fumbled with the lock for a while but you finally got it open. When he saw you his eyes went wide and he looked you over. Your makeup was smeared and your tights ripped up and your knees were scraped to hell.

“Who did this to you?” he growled.

“What?”

“Who the fuck did this to you? I’ll kill him.”

You realized then that he thought you’d been attacked and you shook your head, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him he was wrong. He came inside and sat you down on the couch, wrapping you in a blanket. You were crying and shaking and he sat down next to you, rubbing your shoulder and fuming. He looked like he was ready to go to war. You finally got your head together enough to try to start a semi-coherent sentence.

“It wasn’t… I wasn’t…” Your brain couldn’t find the words and you just stopped trying. He lifted your head and looked you in the eyes.

“Just say yes or no,” he said. “Did someone hurt you?”

You shook your head and said, “No.”

“Then why are you crying?” he asked. Now he was completely confused.

“Because I miss you,” you said. You had sudden clarity, although your actions were still being fueled by the liquor. “I need you. Stay with me.”

You moved to kiss him but he gently pushed you away.

“Don’t do this,” he said. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I do,” you cried. “I want to. Please. I love you.”

He shook his head and hugged you tight to him.

“I love you, too,” he said. “Which is why I could never take advantage of you. I would never do that. You have no idea what you’re doing right now.”

“I do know,” you sobbed.

“No, baby,” he said. “You don’t. You don’t want this. If we did this I would hate myself forever, and you would hate me for doing it. Let me just put you to bed, OK?”

You nodded, and the part of you that was buried beneath the sea of alcohol knew he was right and loved him for it. He carried you to bed and got you into comfortable clothes. He brought you a glass of water and made you drink it before refilling it and setting it on your bedside table, where his picture used to be. He tucked you in tight and kissed you on your forehead. You were out before he reached your front door.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a good thing Molly had a key to your place because you were in no position to drag yourself out of bed and answer the door the next morning. She came in to your bedroom holding coffee, took one look at you, and huffed out a laugh. You wanted to tell her to shut up, but all you could do was groan. Even with the curtains pulled, there was too much light in the room for your liking and your head was pounding so hard you thought your eyes might explode. You struggled to sit up and take the coffee from her hand but as soon as you were upright you felt the remnants of last night’s indulgences start to rise up and you bolted into the bathroom and puked. She was courteous enough not to bother you while you retched for what seemed like ages, and once you were finished you heard her tap lightly at the door.

“Take a shower, hon,” she said. “I’ll be here.”

You could barely stand while you showered – your body ached, your stomach was a mess, your head was about to blow, but the worst of it came from the memories flooding back from the night before. Things were a bit hazy but you had all the requisite pieces: you remembered kissing Aaron, you remembered texting Jeremy, you remembered begging him to fuck you and getting turned down. You were happy the running shower was loud enough to mask the sound of your sobbing.

When you were dressed, you shuffled into the kitchen and found Molly standing at the counter, a note in her hand. Her lips formed a rigid line and she was looking at you like she wanted to reach out and strangle you.

“You fucking called him last night, didn’t you?”

Your eyes went wide and you went to snatch the note from her hand but your reflexes were slow as shit and she held it out of your reach.

“Give it to me, Molly.”

“Fuck you,” she said. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

“GIVE IT TO ME!” you yelled. Your voice rang in your ears and made your head pound harder but you didn’t care.

She threw the note across the counter at you and crossed her arms, staring you down while you read.

_Call me tomorrow – J._

If Molly hadn’t been three feet in front of you with a death stare on her face, you would have traced the ink with your fingertip, buried your face in the paper and inhaled, hoping to catch a whiff of him. Instead you folded the note neatly, placed it on the counter, and looked up at Molly, trying to wade through your hazy memories to provide her with the details she demanded.

“Tell me what happened,” she said. “Now.” Her voice was cold and you knew she’d had quite enough of your shit. You sighed and began.

“I was shitfaced, Molls. You saw that.”

“That’s no excuse,” she snapped.

“Let me fucking finish before you rip in to me,” you said. “I was drunk. I was freaked out after what happened with Aaron. I didn’t have any plans to text him but it just happened. I needed him.”

“You didn’t need him,” she said. Her face was still hard as steel. “You wanted him. There’s a difference. So, did you fuck him?”

“No,” you said, and the tears came again, “but I would have. He came over and I was all scraped up because I fell in the driveway and I couldn’t really talk and he thought someone had attacked me and he was so upset and I couldn’t even form a complete sentence to explain and I just…”

“You just what?”

“I’m so fucking embarrassed, Molls.”

“What did you do?”

“I basically begged him to fuck me and he said no. He said he couldn’t do that to me, that he’d hate himself for it, and the thing that kills me the most is that it makes me love him even more.”

Molly was silent for a moment before she spoke. Her face had softened a bit.

“Maybe I misjudged him,” she said. “He’s a good guy, and he obviously loves you. I’m not saying I think you should keep this whole mess going, but I respect him for what he did – or didn’t do, rather.”

It hit you then – that moment of clarity only afforded by a horrendous hangover – and you felt something deep inside you break and start to mend itself.

“This needs to stop,” you said. “I can’t keep doing this to myself. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

“Well,” she replied, “that’s the first smart thing you’ve said in I don’t even know how long.”

“I have to call him, though,” you said. “I need to apologize and I need to tell him it’s over.”

“So call him,” she said. “I’ll run out and get you something greasy to soak up whatever tequila you didn’t puke up. You need to really end it, though. No more bullshit.”

“I know,” you replied. “I will. I promise.”

After Molly left you sat on the couch with your phone in your hand, just staring at it. You knew what you had to do; you knew what you had to say, but it hurt like hell just thinking about it and you didn’t know if you’d be able to go through with it. You had no choice, though. You knew you couldn’t go on like this, and you knew he couldn’t either. You pulled up his number and pressed call. When you heard his voice on the other end you felt like you might vomit again.

“How you feelin’?” he asked.

“Like shit,” you replied. “I’m really sorry about last night.”

“Don’t be,” he said.

“No, that was fucked up of me to do. There’s no excuse for that.” You paused. “But thank you, for you know… not…” You trailed off. You couldn’t say it, but you didn’t have to.

“I would never do that to you,” he said. “Not ever.”

You were steeling yourself to say what you needed to say but he got to it first.

“I need to apologize to you, too,” he said. “This whole ‘let’s just be friends’ thing – it was selfish of me. It was too soon. It wasn’t fair to you and I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you said. “It was worth a try. But I think we both know that this isn’t working. I just can’t love you the way that I love you and keep doing this. It’s destroying me.”

You were crying softly but you knew he could hear you, and you heard him sniffle on the other end of the line.

“You know I feel the same way,” he said. “Please tell me you know that.”

“I know it,” you said. “I think I need some time and distance – we both do. I hate it, but it’s true.”

He sighed and you could almost see him run his hand through his hair in that way he always did when he had to say something that pained him.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do without you in my life,” he said. “I really can’t imagine it. I can barely remember what it was like before you.”

“Me neither,” you said, “but we can’t keep doing this.”

“I know,” he said. “It just hurts. I don’t want to say goodbye to you.”

“It doesn’t have to be goodbye,” you said, “but we need time. I feel like if we keep on like this we’re just going to ruin what we had. I need to remember us like we were. I just have to.”

You were both silent for a time, and you knew that he was thinking as you were – cataloging all the good times and trying to forget the bad. He spoke after a while.

“I will never forget you… forget _us_ ,” he said. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

He’d managed to pull himself together but you were still crying. You knew it was pointless to try to stop it and you didn’t care. You wanted him to know how badly it hurt to leave him. You needed him to know.

“We were perfect,” you said, your voice wistful between sniffles. “Really and truly. We should have known it couldn’t last.”

“Was it worth it to you?” he asked. “Because it was worth it to me.”

“Of course it was worth it,” you replied. “And I think we’ll be OK one day. I don’t know when or how. I just know it can’t be now.”

“This is it, then?” he asked, but it wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” you said, and no single word you’d ever spoken was more painful to utter.

“Well then let me just tell you this,” he said. His voice had a finality to it that was inexplicably comforting. “I love you. I will probably always love you. And we may not talk to or see each other for a while, but if you ever need me, know that I’ll always be there for you.”

“I know,” you said, “and I love you, too. But I need to stop needing you.”

And that was it. There was nothing left to be said. No plans were made. There were no goodbyes. It was just over. By the time Molly got back with breakfast sandwiches you were off the phone and curled up on the couch with coffee. Your face was tear-stained and puffy and she didn’t have to ask to know that you’d kept your promise. She sat next to you on the couch while you ate and didn’t say a word. It was probably the longest she’d ever gone without speaking, and you knew there were a thousand things she would have liked to say, but the silence was what you needed and she knew it. She stayed until you fell asleep. You dreamed of a sky without stars.

You soldiered through the months that followed, gradually adjusting to a life without him in it. Molly was by your side and you were working steadily, and that gave you some measure of comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to date. Aaron had asked you out once but he wasn’t persistent about it; he thought you just weren’t ready, and you weren’t, but you weren’t interested in him to begin with. That night had been a terrible mistake, and one you wouldn’t make again. A relationship was the last thing on your mind; you needed to focus on you – on getting back to that place where you felt like yourself again. It would be a long road, you knew, but it was one you had to travel alone.

When _Dahmer_ finally hit the indie theaters you couldn’t bring yourself to go. It wasn’t any sort of box office smash, but Jeremy was receiving critical praise for his performance (as you’d always known he would) and you knew you needed to see it. Molly managed to get her hands on a copy and brought it over to watch it with you. She’d asked if you wanted to be alone but you didn’t. You knew somehow that you’d need her there. You didn’t know how you would take it, but you knew whatever reaction you had would be strong, and the last thing you wanted to do was break down and call him. You needed her there to make sure that didn’t happen.

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked. She was poised in front of your DVD player with a concerned look on her face. “You don’t have to.”

“Yes,” you said. “I do.”

She popped it in and settled on the other side of the couch from you, giving you the space you’d need to process what you were about to see. You hadn’t seen his face or heard his voice in months, and it was a bit of a shock when he first popped up on screen. His voice was not his own; it was that oddly Midwestern, creepy tone he’d perfected before filming, and that brought you some sense of relief. You thought maybe you’d be able to deal with it – to separate the performance from the person – but that was just wishful thinking.

Not five minutes in and you saw that predatory look of his – the one that had frightened you so terribly that you’d screamed out your safe word – and you got chills. Molly noticed but she let you be. You could barely take your eyes from the screen, but for just a moment you turned to her and saw something on her face: it was horror and revelation, and you knew that the final piece of the puzzle had clicked for her. She would never know the darkest of your secrets, but she could see what he’d had to become, and she could only imagine what it must have taken for him to get there.

A few minutes later you saw the book and your heart stopped. It was the anatomy book – that same fucking book. You didn’t know whether it was the _exact_ same one that had started it all or just something similar, but it didn’t matter. You felt sick. You imagined him on set with it sitting there and you wondered if he’d thought of you – of that day, which you knew now had been the beginning of your end. You decided he must have and you started to understand how he’d come so unglued, why he couldn’t separate you from the job. You could almost feel his mind unraveling and all the conflicting thoughts wreaking havoc on his psyche, already damaged from what had gone on before he even stepped on set. You understood then why he didn’t call you during the shoot or after: there was no explanation that would have made sense to you, no words for what he was feeling. You had to see it with your own eyes. The only thing in the world that could make it clear to you was currently spinning away in your DVD player.

By the time he was shirtless with the Polaroid camera you were awkwardly wet. Your eyes were glued to every dip and curve of his body and you hated yourself for being so attracted to him, but even though you knew the script like the back of your hand, you were in no way prepared for what he was bringing to the role. You almost lost your shit when you saw him cuddle up next to the unconscious boy on the couch. His face was so content – loving even – and a gentle smile played at his lips as he nuzzled into the boy’s neck. It was the way he used to look when he’d drape his arm around you in bed after you’d made love, and you never thought you’d see it again. It made you so sad, but in a flash that feeling was replaced by something else entirely. It was the sight of him in the chair, legs splayed and a hand down his jeans, that took you to another place all too familiar to you – the lust-hooded eyes, the parted lips, the breathy sounds of his pleasure as he stroked himself.

If Molly hadn’t been sitting three feet away you would have played those 10 seconds on repeat with the volume cranked to the max, finger-fucking yourself hard and fast until you came screaming his name; instead you sat, stock still and cunt throbbing, watching him drill a hole in the kid’s head and trying not to throw up. You couldn’t look at Molly. You knew your face was flushed red and your breathing was too heavy; you knew she could tell you were aroused. She was kind enough to pretend not to notice, and in all the years that followed she never said a word about it, but she knew. You should have felt something akin to shame or guilt or embarrassment, but you just felt alone, and the only person in the world who would understand was the one person you couldn’t talk to. You checked the time on your phone: it had only been eleven minutes. You cleared your throat and she broke the silence between you.

“We can stop it if you want,” she said.

“No,” you replied. “I need to know if it was worth what it cost me.”

“Do you want to be alone?” she asked.

“No,” you said.

And you didn’t. You didn’t trust yourself alone. You needed something to tether you to reality otherwise you’d get completely lost in him. With Molly there, you were just watching a movie – you could separate the man from the role; without her, you weren’t sure what would happen, but you knew for certain that you didn’t want to find out.

You knew it was coming but you still weren’t ready for it. It was the choking scene – the one that broke him and sent him running from your house. He was mostly cold and hard but you saw it: the tiniest flash of horror in his eyes. You’d seen that look that night and you knew a little piece of him was poking through – one that only you would ever know was there. It was hard to watch for a lot of reasons and your hands started shaking. You tried your hardest not to cry, knowing you could never tell Molly the real reason for your tears. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to comfort you. She knew that you needed to feel whatever it was you were feeling, regardless of where it was coming from.

As the film went on you tried your best to separate yourself from what you were seeing but it was hard. When he ordered a beer at the bar you couldn’t help but flash back to the first time you’d ever laid eyes on him. He’d strolled up to the bar in much the same way, looked up at you and ordered his drink, giving you a little nod as he slid the cash across the bar to you. Even harder was the way he looked at the man on the dance floor: not predatory, not menacing, just interested – a bit of innocent flirtation in his widened eyes and his slight smile. It was a look you’d seen, one he’d directed at you, and it hurt to remember.

The montage of him drugging and fucking all the men at the bar was almost unbearable to watch, and the fact that it wasn’t horribly graphic made it even worse. It focused mostly on him, and you shuddered hearing his moans – some familiar, some alien – and the way his face contorted with wicked pleasure. Some of the faces you’d seen, some you hadn’t and never wanted to again. It went on longer than was comfortable and even Molly squirmed in her seat. You heard her mutter “Jesus Christ” under her breath, but she didn’t know the half of it. You understood then why he couldn’t bring himself to go to bars anymore, why he associated it with all those horrible things, and another piece of the puzzle snapped into place for you. It was a necessary evil – seeing him this way. It was the only way you’d get closure, and you forced yourself to keep going, praying for more answers as the movie progressed.

The occasional smirk or grin and Jeremy would break through. It was the only way you knew he was still in there, though nobody but those closest to him would have picked up on it. His mannerisms and demeanor were gone; he was someone else – a monster – and you were afraid, not because you thought him capable of anything as atrocious as the acts you saw on the screen, but because you feared the monster might always stay with him. At the very least, you knew he had lost something – something more than just you. There had been an innocence to him in those early days and you knew he could never get it back. That made you sadder than all the rest combined.

The scenes with Rodney were some of the worst for you, because even though he was cold and calculating, there was something about his interactions with that character that brought just the tiniest bit of warmth from him. The way he placed his hand on the small of Rodney’s back when they were dancing, the fingers of his large hands splayed so that they covered the expanse of the smaller man’s body, reminded you of the times he would hold you so tightly to him, or even just guide you wordlessly into a room. There was nothing you missed more than that feeling – that simple gesture that meant you were his, and you’d always thought at those moments he would never let you go.

You thought you’d gotten over your attraction to him, numbed yourself to the sight of his body and just let the character take over the man, but you were wrong. It was something so small – just him dipping his fingers into a jar of peanut butter to take a scoop into his mouth – but it made you start to ache for him again. You tried to stop yourself from remembering those times he would suck your juices from those very same fingers and savor the taste of you, and the times you’d take his fingers into your mouth and suck them hard while he fucked you, filling you at both ends. You’d always come hard that way, looking into his eyes and seeing lust and love and devotion. You suddenly felt cold and you grabbed a blanket. It wasn’t just his fingers, though; the whole scene bothered you. Because it was innocent fun, he was laughing and playful, and while the laugh wasn’t his signature rusty chuckle, some things were the same – the vein that popped in his neck when an uncontrollable fit of laughter took him, the light in his eyes you always saw in those little moments when he was happy and you were happy and there was nothing else in the world except the two of you and whatever stupid joke had started it in the first place.

The only time you had to pause the movie was when you saw the Polaroid shot of him and Rodney. That wasn’t in the script; there were only ever shots of his victims in varied states of consciousness and undress. The self-shot of him with someone else hit too close to home. He looked almost happy in it, almost like himself, and it took you right back to Joshua Tree, the dawn spreading across the horizon behind you.

“What’s the matter?” Molly asked.

“I just need a minute,” you replied, and you went into your bedroom for a moment. You debated whether to take the picture out of your hiding place and look at it but you knew it was a horrible idea. Instead you just used the bathroom and went back to the couch to finish the movie. Because you had to finish it. There was no turning back now.

All attempts to deny your attraction to him had been futile thus far and you’d given up completely by the time you saw him standing at the edge of the bed, naked but for a pair of briefs that showed the outline of his perfect ass clear as day. He was rubbing his thighs in that way he always did. How many times had you seen that? The way he took in the sight of you in front of him before having his way with you. How many times had he crawled up on top of you, worshipping and caressing your body like it was a work of art? How many times had he straddled you and run your hands up over that chest you always ached to touch? You couldn’t count them; you could barely think. It was all you could do to remember to breathe.

You started to cry openly at the part of the script that had always touched you. You’d always thought Rodney’s character was something special, and the actor was really doing it justice, and when he delivered the lines you knew by heart it was like reading them for the first time.

_I came back here because I thought I really liked you… I think you’re beautiful. You have beautiful eyes, you’re tall, you’re strong, but gentle. I always dreamed about somebody just like that._

The way he watched Rodney speaking – cold at first, but then conflicted – made you weep softly, thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking of you. He knew you’d always felt the same, you’d told him so, if not in those exact words. You knew it was a stretch, an improbable dream, but you had to believe those words had resonated with him in a way he couldn’t deny. The crying scene had the same effect on you. You could never stand to see him cry, and it was worse knowing that you’d seen it before – that night on your couch so many months ago – and he looked exactly the same as he had then. You should have known that night and stopped everything. Maybe you would have had a chance in hell if you had. But you’d stood by and watched, as you did now, but this time you let yourself cry with him.

You were numb by the end. When he tried to choke Rodney out with the belt, when he cut into the boy on the bed – you should have been disturbed and horrified. Molly certainly was. But you had nothing left to feel. You wondered how he’d managed that part – the part where he sliced the boy open. You knew it was one of the things he’d feared most, but he pulled it off flawlessly. The whole performance was flawless, really. You watched the end credits until his name scrolled up and disappeared and then you turned it off. Molly was silent, waiting for you to speak, but you just dug in your purse for a pack of cigarettes and lit one up in the house, breaking your own rule. You smoked it down to the filter and then stubbed it out. Molly was looking at you, the question all over her face. You turned to her.

“It was worth it,” you said, and you got up to pour yourself a stiff drink.

 


	14. Chapter 14

It was nearing Christmastime and you were looking up flights home for the holidays when you got the call from Molly.

“I assume since you haven’t called me that you don’t know yet, and I get the dubious honor of breaking the news to you.”

“What are you talking about?” you asked, but you should have known. Your mind had been so preoccupied with Christmas preparations that you’d forgotten that the Independent Spirit Award nominations had been announced that morning.

“Goddammit,” she said. “OK, don’t freak out.”

“Molls, just spit it out. I’m in the middle of something.”

“I don’t know how you could have possibly forgotten they were announcing the nominees this morning,” she said, “but you-know-who is up for Male Lead.”

You weren’t surprised. You weren’t upset. You were happy actually – proud even. With the exception of watching the film, it had been months since you’d seen or spoken to him and you were well along the road to recovery. There was a time when you would have felt resentment, jealousy, even anger towards him, but you were past that now. He deserved it; he’d earned it. That much you could say with certainty. 

“I should call him,” you said. You heard Molly sigh.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I think it’s time. I just want to congratulate him.”

“Can I go on record as saying that I am against the idea of this phone call?”

“No,” you said, “you can’t,” and she laughed.

“Alright,” she said. “Go ahead. If you say you’re ready, I trust you.”

You hung up and sat silently for a while, staring out your window and thinking about whether or not you should call. Your first instinct was to do it – you were OK now, you were ready – but there was a small part of you that wondered whether one phone call might derail all the progress you’d made. You decided it was the right thing to do. If you wanted to be friends with him at some point, and you did, you’d be remiss not to call him on such a landmark day. You thought about what his face must have looked like when he got the news and a brief pang of sadness hit you. You would have loved to have seen that, to have been there by his side and watched his face light up in that way it always did when he knew he’d accomplished something, but a phone call would have to do. You pulled his number up and called. It went straight to voicemail.

It was the same message he’d always had, and there was something familiar and comforting about that, and when you heard the beep you left him a short, congratulatory message. You didn’t ask him to call you back; you didn’t want anything from him but to know that you were happy and proud of him. You hung up and went back to searching for reasonably priced flights. Your phone rang minutes later.

“Hey!” he said. He sounded so happy and an involuntary smile spread across your face. “Sorry, the phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning.”

“I’ll bet,” you said. “I just wanted to call and congratulate you.”

“I’m happy you called,” he said. “I was wondering if you would.”

“How could I not?” you asked. The thought of not calling him suddenly seemed ridiculous. “So, how does it feel?”

“Really good,” he said. “I don’t really know what to do with myself.”

“Well, you should celebrate,” you said. “You earned it.”

He was quiet for a moment and you could tell he wanted to ask if you’d seen the movie. You knew he wasn’t going to. You let him off the hook.

“You were phenomenal,” you said. “I always knew you would be.”

“Thanks,” he said, “that means a lot to me.” He sounded a little choked up and you started to feel the same. “I wasn’t sure if you’d seen it. I would have understood if you didn’t want to.”

“I had to,” you said, and you both knew why. You didn’t have to tell him that everything made sense now or that it had all been worth it – the nomination proved what you’d already decided months ago. “And I’m glad I did.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

You were flattered but you knew that wasn’t true. He was capable of that and so much more on his own.

“Well, that’s complete bullshit,” you said, “but thank you.”

“No,” he said, “it’s true.”

He took a long pause and you had no idea what he was thinking about. You were uneasy and you didn’t know why.

“So, listen,” he said. His voice was shaky. “You can say no and I’ll totally understand, but… uh… if you wanted to come, I would love to have you there. It wouldn’t be a date or anything but… I don’t know… it just wouldn’t feel right to me without you.”

You had no idea how to respond; you had no idea how to feel, so you stayed silent though your mind was racing. After a few moments he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked, I just-”

“Stop,” you said. “I’d love to go.” 

“Really?” He sounded genuinely surprised and you pictured him on the other end of the phone with his eyes wide and his brow crinkled. It made you smile.

“Yes,” you said, “really. It’ll be fun, I think. Besides, it’s time. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

There was no sadness, no tears, no longing. You were just happy for him, you missed seeing his face, and you wanted to be there with him for that milestone – as a friend, someone who cared about him and loved him with no strings attached. When you hung up, you finished booking your tickets home with a contented smile on your face.

“Are you fucking insane?”

“Molly, please. Just don’t.”

You’d waited until after the holidays to tell her. You were happy about the decision, and spending time with your family was trying enough without having to deal with the boatload of shit she would give you for accepting his invitation.

“No,” she said. She was heated. “Fuck you. This is up there with the worst ideas you’ve ever had. Like, way the fuck up there.”

“It’s not a date,” you said. Your voice was weary. You were tired of her second-guessing you. “We’re not even going there together.”

“Oh, OK. Well that makes a huge difference.” She was dripping sarcasm and you wanted to reach through the phone and smack her. “I’m so fucking done with you right now.”

“Don’t be like that,” you said. “You said yourself that time heals wounds. It’s been almost a year. I’m fine; he’s fine. Why can’t you just be happy that I’m in a better place instead of being so fucking negative about it?”

“Because you ARE in a better place and this is going to fuck it up. I can’t watch you do this to yourself again. I won’t.”

“What are you saying?” you asked. You knew she’d be pissed but you never thought she’d turn her back on you over it.

“I’m saying if you do this and it all goes to shit, I’m not going to be there this time. I mean it.”

“Molly-”

“No,” she said. “I’m done.” And she hung up.

You didn’t speak to her for a week, and when she finally agreed to meet you for drinks she was still pissed but willing to hear you out. You tried to convince her that your intentions were pure – that you weren’t trying to get him back or get him in bed or any of the old truths you used to deny. To you, it was truly about starting fresh with him, and your head and your heart both told you that you were ready.

“I don’t need him anymore, Molls,” you said, taking a sip of your wine. “I’ve moved on. You know that.”

She was searching you, looking for the lie behind your eyes. She couldn’t find it because it wasn’t there.

“You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you said. “This is important to me. This is a huge step and I need you to just be supportive, OK? I know you think it’s a bad idea and I understand why you do, but things are different now.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I really do.”

You were nervous in the days leading up to the awards, not because you were questioning your decision to go, but because you wanted to make absolutely sure that things went as you hoped they would. You had a moment when trying to decide what to wear. You went to your closet and pulled out a dress you knew Jeremy loved on you, and for a split-second it seemed like a no-brainer, but you realized quickly that to wear it would be to undermine everything you were trying to accomplish. You weren’t trying to attract him; you were trying to support him. You left and went shopping – a new dress for a new beginning. It was an afternoon event, fairly casual, so you ended up getting something simple. The dress was navy, almost black, and it fell just above your knees; it was sleeveless with a scoop neck, nothing too revealing, and a closed back. It flattered your figure without hugging your curves too tightly. You didn’t want anything flashy or showy; you didn’t want the wrong kind of attention from him. You just wanted to fade into the background, to stand behind him as a friend and nothing more.

You were more excited than nervous as you readied yourself for the awards. You felt good, you were at peace with yourself and your decision, and you were truly excited to see Jeremy again. You’d splurged on a car service to take you to Santa Monica since you’d undoubtedly be over the limit by the end of the event, and everything was going smoothly until you started getting close to the beach. You felt stupid for not thinking of it earlier. They always hold the awards in a tent on the beach, a stone’s throw from where you’d spent the most perfect day of your life with the man you were about to see for the first time in a year – the man you loved, the man you would always love. You started to sweat and you asked the driver to crank the A/C.

You checked the time on your phone. You’d tried to time it so you’d be one of the later arrivals and just waltz in with no fuss but, your luck being what it was, the traffic was lighter than it should have been and you ended up being early. You decided to have the driver park somewhere close by and wait. You didn’t want the first time you saw him to be in front of a bunch of press, or worse, some A-lister he was deep in conversation with. You needed a private moment, or as private as you could get, and you had no qualms about sitting in the car and waiting until the time was right. You texted him and lied, saying you were running late and you’d meet him inside. You needed this to go smoothly. 

The odds started to stack up against you when you saw the Ferris wheel on the skyline in the distance. Your eyes shot involuntarily to the car at the apex of the wheel and it all came flooding back to you: the smell of his jacket, the feel of his strong arm wrapped around you, and the kiss – that unforgettable kiss. You closed your eyes and you were back on the pier. You could see the ice cream drip down his fingers and feel his tongue on your skin as he licked the powdered sugar off your lip. You felt his arms wrapped tightly around you while you took in the wonders of the aquarium. You heard his laughter and saw the sparkle in his eyes. You only snapped back to reality when he texted you back. You had no idea how long you’d been sitting there.

Going inside now. Quit stalling and get your ass in here.

You smiled and shook your head. How did he always know? You had the driver drop you near the tent and you took a deep breath before you opened the door. You moved as quickly as possibly, trying not to look around at whoever might be there. You were never one for the star-fucker mentality, but you had your idols like everyone else did and you couldn’t handle any sort of distractions. When you entered the main tent it was decked out and you suddenly felt out of place, but the feeling was short lived. A familiar face greeted you with a smile and a wave from across the room. He was wearing some god-awful brown suit, and you would have bet money on the fact that he’d bought it at Goodwill that morning. You couldn’t help but laugh because you knew he just didn’t give a fuck, and it made you love him even more. He looked good, though, because he was happy. You could see it in the gentle curve of his lips, the twinkle in his eyes, and the way his face was almost glowing. Seeing him again – joyful, like he used to be – was so comforting, like the first day of spring after a long, cold winter. You crossed the room to meet him.

“How long did you wait before coming in here?” he asked. He handed you a drink without asking – white wine. It was what you would have chosen.

“Shut up,” you said, and he smiled. He was still waiting for you to answer the question and you sighed and gave in. “Like twenty minutes.”

“Idiot,” he said.

“Prick,” you replied.

He chuckled and moved in for a hug, and when he wrapped his arms around you, you noticed he’d bulked up a bit since you’d last seen him. You remembered his next big film was coming up and you congratulated him. He looked kind of embarrassed and it was adorable.

“So, uh, S.W.A.T. is kind of a big deal,” you said. “Summer action flick, blockbuster type shit. You should be bouncing off the walls. What’s the matter with you?”

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s awesome. I had a blast filming and I’m excited for it and everything. It’s just sort of surreal – all of this.”

“You’ve been doing this for years,” you said. “It’s about fucking time you got some recognition.”

“You sound like my mom,” he said, and there was sadness behind his eyes for a brief moment. You didn’t know why and you didn’t press it. 

“Well, your mom is a smart woman,” you said, and you changed the subject. “Can we talk about your suit for a minute? Because we need to talk about your suit.”

He laughed. “I borrowed it.”

“From who?” you asked. “A homeless person? If you’re going to be going to premieres and awards ceremonies and shit, someone needs to take you shopping.”

“Are you volunteering?” he asked.

“Fuck no. You’d be a nightmare to deal with.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “I just don’t really care about that shit. Maybe I should start.”

You smiled as you took in the sight of him. “Don’t,” you said, and you straightened his collar. He was perfect just the way he was.

“You look lovely, by the way.”

You felt yourself blush. You looked at the floor and then back at him; you avoided his eyes when you spoke.

“Thanks.”

You felt like you were on a first date. You finished off your wine and it was immediately replenished by a member of the waitstaff. You hoped it was just procedure and not that you looked so blatantly awkward they could tell how badly you needed it. He guided you to the table by the small of your back and you shivered.

“You cold?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you said, but it was a lie. You could get over him, but never the feeling you got when he placed his hand there. You resigned yourself to it; some things would never change.

He pulled out the chair for you and you sat down. He sat next to you. You weren’t expecting that. It was feeling more and more like you were his date, and anyone who looked at the two of you for more than a moment would have assumed you were together. You didn’t dwell on it, though. There was no point. You were happy when Artel came over to the table to provide some distraction. He was also nominated, for Best Newcomer, for his role as Rodney. He deserved it, too, and you told him as much when you introduced yourself. He jumped right into conversation with you, and within a minute you wanted him to be your best friend. He was lively and clever and he made you laugh your ass off. You were happy he didn’t inquire as to how you knew Jeremy, although that was a sure sign he already knew. The extent of his knowledge was a mystery, but clearly it was enough for him to avoid the topic entirely. He did so without awkwardness. It made you like him even more.

The ceremony got started, the drinks were flowing, and everyone was having fun. It wasn’t a stuffy event, it was more like a party – a celebration of your craft – and you liked that. It embodied everything you loved about independent filmmaking: the atmosphere wasn’t competitive and people, regardless of their status, generally seemed to appreciate everyone else’s hard work. Everyone wanted to win, of course – some more than others – but there was a real sense of community there. You thought to yourself that, one day, you’d like to be a part of it yourself.

You saw Jeremy get increasingly nervous as the ceremony wore on. It would have been imperceptible to others, but not to you. To look at his face, you’d never know it, but you knew his tells: he was fidgeting a bit in his chair, running his hands over his thighs every now and again, and moving his thumb across the ring on his forefinger, fiddling with it and spinning it around. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it, but you noticed. When it was time for the Male Lead announcement, he looked over at you and you instinctively reached for each other’s hands. His palms were sweaty and you saw something in his eyes then – a strange look you couldn’t place. It was only afterwards, when someone else’s name was called, that you realized he didn’t want to win. It was enough for him just to be there. You gave his hand a squeeze and leaned in to him. He met you halfway.

“You’re always a winner to me,” you said. He smiled and ran his thumb across your ring finger.

“I’m just happy to be here,” he said. “And I’m so happy you came.”

“Me, too,” you replied. And you were.

As evening approached and things were winding down you decided it was time to go home. You went outside with Jeremy to have a smoke before you left.

“Can I give you a ride?”

“No, thanks,” you said. “I’ve got a car waiting – fancy, I know.”

He looked sad – not quite disappointed, but there was something there. You were tipsy so you asked him straight out.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“Bullshit. For an actor, you’re a terrible liar.”

“I just sort of wish my family was here,” he said. “I would have loved for them to meet you.”

You’d always wanted to meet his family, and he’d had every intention of introducing you when you were together, but the timing had never quite worked out. You found it curious that he was still thinking about it.

“Do you make a habit of introducing your ex-girlfriends to your family?” you asked. The word stung coming off your tongue, but it’s what you were now. No denying it.

“No,” he replied, “but I do like to introduce them to people who are important to me.” He was suddenly quite serious. “You’re special to me. You always will be.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just smiled until you could find your words.

“Maybe some day,” you said, and he took you in his arms.

You gripped him tighter than you should have, and he did the same. You knew there would always be something there. You knew it was time to go.

“I’m exhausted,” you said. “I think it’s time for me to retire.”

He gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek and said goodnight. You walked off in the direction of the car, resisting the urge to look back at him. You could feel him watching you walk away.

You called Molly when you got home and recapped the afternoon for her. You were a bit smug, pleased to inform her that things went as you’d planned, but if she picked up on it, she didn’t comment.

“I’m happy it worked out,” she said. “I guess I owe you an apology for being such a cunt about it.”

“It’s fine,” you said. “I’m over it. I’m just relieved. I think we can finally be friends now.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad. And you know I just want what’s best for you, right?”

You did know, and you appreciated her for it. You knew you would never have made it through everything without her and you told her so. Things were good – as close to normal as they could be: you and Molly were fine again, you were starting a new chapter with Jeremy, and work was going well. You should have known it was too good to be true.

You started talking to him on the phone a lot: not every day, but a few times a week – just chatting and shooting the shit at first, but the conversations became deeper as you grew more comfortable with the friendship. You started talking like you used to, when things were good – about anything and everything that came to mind. He was a good listener, and he didn’t give you too much shit for being the worrier that you sometimes could be. You knew he thought you were better than that but he let you ramble when you needed to. You felt like you were in limbo; you had no idea what your future held for you and it scared you. He was never one for looking backwards or forwards, and on the rare occasions he did speak of the future, it was mostly career-related. One time, though, during a particularly late night conversation, he made some vague statement that you knew spoke to his only fear. He was driven and tenacious, he lived in the moment, and to most everything in life he took a balls-to-the-wall approach, but the thought of ending up alone bothered him. He’d never say it flat out, but you knew.

You graduated from phone calls to dinner. You went out a few times – always restaurants, never bars – and took in a couple of movies. A week or so before the S.W.A.T. premiere you agreed to take him shopping.

“You need a proper suit,” you said. “It doesn’t have to cost ten grand, it just needs to fit you and not look like it came out of a fucking bin at the Salvation Army.”

“Why don’t you just pick something out and I’ll wear it,” he said. “I trust you.”

You ended up choosing a classic cut suit with a subtle stripe – black on black – and a collared shirt striped in midnight blue and slate. He refused to wear a tie and you let it go. It was a battle you knew you wouldn’t win. When he came out of the dressing room the sight of him stole your breath. It fit him near perfectly off the rack, and you’d never seen him look so put together. He’d recently buzzed his hair, and even though you thought you’d miss his surfer boy blonde locks, the cut looked good on him. It brought out his eyes and his smile and the pink of his lips. You stared for a moment too long and he noticed.

“Good, I take it?”

“Umm, yeah,” you said. “That’ll work.”

He flashed you that little smirk of his and went to change back into his regular clothes. You left to go find him a belt and some shoes. The ones he had were old and scuffed to shit and, while he didn’t want to replace them, you told him he didn’t have a choice.

“If you’re gonna be Mr. Big Shot Movie Star, you have to have a decent pair of shoes. I don’t make the rules.”

“I hate you so much right now,” he said.

“No you don’t,” you replied. You smiled and looked up at him, jokingly batting your eyelashes. “You love me.”

He looked down at you and winked. “Always,” he said.

You were walking out of the store when he asked you to come to the premiere.

“My whole family’s gonna be there,” he said. “I want you to meet everybody.”

You looked at him and you could see in his eyes how badly he wanted it. It broke your heart to say no.

“I can’t,” you said. “It’s not that I wouldn’t love to meet your family, I just… I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right to me. This is a huge day for you. I’m sure they are all so incredibly proud of you. You should spend it with them.”

He looked crushed for a moment but he resigned himself to the rejection. He knew in his heart you were right.

“OK, I understand. But will you come to the afterparty at least?”

“I don’t know, Jeremy.”

“Come on,” he pleaded. “You can’t stand there and tell me you don’t want to get drunk with Samuel L. Jackson. You fucking love him.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you said. “Don’t invoke Samuel L. right now. That’s so unfair.”

“He’ll be there…” he said. He was fucking with you now. He knew he had you on the hook.

“Goddammit. Fine. But if I drag my ass to this party and I don’t hear the word ‘motherfucker’ come out of his mouth at least ten times I’m going to be really upset.”

He threw his head back and laughed before putting his arm around your shoulder. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m willing to bet that he’ll say it ten times in the first ten minutes you’re there. But if you won’t come to the premiere, you at least need to watch the movie. I’ll have the studio send you a copy.”

You repeated his last sentence back to him in a mocking tone and he squeezed your shoulder.

“Shut up,” he said, and you giggled.

You couldn’t help but make fun of him a bit, but deep down you were so very proud of him your heart was almost bursting. You walked to your respective cars and said goodbye. The usual hug – tighter and longer than a regular friend hug, but still within the confines of what was appropriate – was exchanged and you left. You tried to push the image of him in that suit out of your mind as you drove home but it was near impossible. You managed, though. You had to.

He’d asked you one more time to go to the premiere but you’d declined again. It was the right thing to do. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to meet his family, but you felt awkward and more than a little bit scared. How would he explain your relationship now? Would it make sense to anyone else? Did it even make sense to you? You would never tell him this, but you were terrified of meeting his mother. He loved her and respected her and treated her like a queen; it was just one of the many things that made him such a good man, but it put a lot of pressure on you. When you were together you’d always worried she wouldn’t think you were good enough for him, and you knew her opinion meant the world to him. Now that you were broken up, you feared she would hate you for breaking her son’s heart. You knew there was no way in hell Jeremy had told her what had really happened between the two of you, so you could only assume that she thought the worst: that you couldn’t take it when he’d broken down, that you’d abandoned him in his time of need. You didn’t have to be a mother yourself to know that something like that would bring the mama bear out of any woman, and she would protect her cub from you at all costs.

The afternoon of the premiere you sat down to watch the movie. You loved action movies – always had – and you were excited to see Jeremy as the villain. And you could never get enough of Samuel L. Jackson. Within a minute, Jeremy was on screen in full S.W.A.T. gear and you knew you were in trouble. You couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He had swagger, he was cocky, he was a bad boy, and you felt those familiar feelings rise up in you. When you got your first look at the tattoos on his forearms and the amount of muscle he’d put on for the role you damn near lost it. You always loved his arms, but you’d never seen him quite like this and it was more than you could take. Watching him throw his partner against the mirror brought you right back to that night in the bar when he’d come to your defense, and you let your thoughts wander to what had occurred later that night, in the hallway – the way he dominated you and took you up against the wall. You wanted that again. You hated that you did, but you couldn’t deny it. By the time you got to the scene in the bar you knew you were fucked. He was jerking the pool cue suggestively and wagging that tongue of his and it was too much. Every effort you’d made to suppress your attraction to him flew out the window, and by the time you’d finished the film you had one thing on your mind: you wanted him that night, and you were going to get him.

You went to your closet and pulled out the fuck-me dress you knew drove him crazy. It was short and black and sequined, completely backless, and paired with some heels he’d always been powerless to resist it. You should have called Molly to have her talk you down; you should have taken a cold shower and tried to quell your urges. But you didn’t. Instead you went about grooming yourself to absolute perfection, put on your outfit of choice and applied your makeup the way you knew he liked. You stared at yourself in the mirror and you liked what you saw. You knew he’d like it, too. You had a drink or two before calling the cab – a bit of liquid courage to help you along, but nothing excessive. By the time you arrived at the lounge you were pleasantly buzzed and ready. You strode toward the entrance, turning a few heads in the process, and it gave you that last little bit of confidence you needed.

When you walked in he was talking to Colin, laughing and fucking around, but when he turned his head in your direction you saw him go silent. He tried to keep his mouth closed but he couldn’t do it. You felt a surge of adrenaline and you walked over to him like you owned the place.

“Sorry I’m late,” you said, but you weren’t, and a smile spread across his face. He took you in his arms and let his hands wander freely over the exposed skin of your back. You pulled out of the hug and he resisted a little, letting his hands linger on your hips a beat longer than he should have before he let you go.

“You gonna introduce me to this gorgeous woman?” you heard Colin ask in his thick Irish accent, but you weren’t looking at him. You were in a staring contest with Jeremy and you won. He turned to Colin and introduced you: he didn’t give you a title, friend or otherwise. He simply said your name.

“Well, you really didn’t do her justice, man,” Colin said.

Colin was an incorrigible flirt and you liked it, not because you wanted him, but because you wanted Jeremy to see you being wanted, and you wanted him to want you more. You could tell by the way he was looking at you that it was working. They were both a bit drunk already and when Colin left to get another round of drinks, Jeremy leaned in close to you. You could feel his breath, hot against your neck, as he spoke.

“You just had to wear that fucking dress, didn’t you?”

You nodded and he looked at you with fire in his eyes.

“You know what that thing does to me.”

You played dumb. “And what might that be?” you asked.

“It makes me think with my dick,” he replied, and a sly smile spread across his face. You leaned in close to him, your lips dusting his earlobe.

“And what is your dick thinking about?” you asked.

“You sure you want to find out?”

“I think I already know,” you replied. He just laughed and shook his head.

“Woman,” he said, “you have no idea.”

You looked at him and raised your eyebrow. That’s when you noticed the scarf, though how you hadn’t noticed it before you couldn’t say.

“Excuse me, but I don’t remember a scarf being involved in your attire for this evening,” you said. “This is what you go for instead of a tie?”

You brought your hands up and grabbed it on both sides, fingering the silk and pulling him closer to you in the process. He pushed his body into you and you could feel the bulge in his pants getting bigger. You let out an involuntary “Mmm” when you felt him hard against your hip.

“I told you it was thinking,” he said and you giggled.

“Well, you’d better get it under control because Colin will be back soon.”

“You gonna flirt with him some more?” he asked.

“I might,” you replied. “Unless you give me a reason not to.”

“You go ahead,” he said, “but you’re gonna pay for it later.”

“I certainly hope so,” you replied, and he licked his lips and took a step back.

Colin brought whiskey shots and you took yours gladly in hand.

“Think you can handle it, little lass?” he asked, and before you could answer Jeremy interrupted.

“This one can drink both of us under the table.”

“Well,” Colin said, raising his shot glass, “let’s test that theory, yeah?”

You all clinked glasses and threw back the whiskey and Colin slammed his glass down on the table with a satisfied grunt. Jeremy stared you down while you laughed at some story Colin was telling and you knew you were getting to him. You wondered how much more of your shit he could take before he broke. You found out when Colin asked you to dance. You went with him, casting a backward glance at Jeremy on the way, and in under a minute he had crossed the room to you.

“Sorry, brother,” he said to Colin. “I’m cutting in.”

“Understandable,” Colin said, and he walked off to find himself a new piece of ass. Jeremy took your hand wordlessly and led you into a darkened corner. When you were alone he pulled you tight to him.

“Bitch,” he said, but he had a smile on his face.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked.

“You know exactly what the fuck I mean,” he said. His eyes went dark. “You wanna fuck him? ‘Cause he’ll fuck you, but not like I can.”

“I don’t know,” you said, toying with the fabric of his scarf. “He looks like he’d be a pretty good fuck.”

He dug his hands into your ass and growled in your ear. “I could stick my fingers in your pussy and make you come screaming my name right here, right now, and you fucking know it.”

“So do it, then. I’m not wearing any underwear.”

One quick look over his shoulder and he ran his hand between your legs. When he felt you bare and wet against his fingers he cursed and closed his eyes.

“Meet me in the limo in ten minutes,” he said, and he walked away without looking back.

He strode across the room with that bad boy swagger – the Gamble swagger – and you couldn’t get outside fast enough. When he finally joined you he gave the driver your address and closed the partition, and he was on you the instant the tinted window was up – kissing you and groping you and nipping at your ear and your neck and your collarbones. You couldn’t get enough of the way his buzzed hair felt as you ran your hands over it and he moaned against your skin as you pawed at his head. 

He pulled away and pushed you on your back, hiking your dress up and spreading your legs as he knelt in front of you. He looked up at you wickedly, running his hands up your thighs toward your center, but he stopped before he got there.

“You know how fast I could get you off right now?” He teased your pussy with one finger, dragging it painfully slow up your entrance and stopping before he reached your clit. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

“How ‘bout you stop talking and just do it?”

“You got a mouth on you tonight,” he said. “Maybe I should shove something in it and shut you the fuck up.”

You thought he’d go for his belt buckle, take his pants down and have you suck him off. You would have happily done it, but he went for his scarf instead.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Shut that smart mouth of yours.”

You did as he commanded and he placed the silk fabric over your mouth and tied it tight at the back of your head.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now where was I?” He brought his hand down and pushed two fingers deep inside you. Your moans were muffled by the fabric but loud enough that he could hear you clear as day. “Oh right, I was gonna remind you how fuckin’ fast you come when I touch you.” 

You didn’t need to be reminded; you knew he could push your buttons just right. He fucked you furiously with his fingers and thumbed your clit, staring up at you with hungry eyes and only looking away from you when he bent his head to nibble your inner thighs. He crooked his fingers just so and he started to hit your sweet spot with each thrust and you cried his name into the silk.

“What’s that?” he said. He was toying with you, mocking you. You liked it. “I can’t hear you.”

You reached down and grabbed his head as he continued to work you but his hair was so short now you couldn’t get a good grip on him. You punched the leather on either side of you and started to writhe. You tried to tell him you were about to come but the sounds were garbled. It didn’t matter. He knew.

“You gonna come for me?” he asked. You nodded vigorously as he hit the perfect rhythm and you arched your back up off the seat. You cried out as you felt yourself start to explode, and even through the fabric it was louder than it should have been. He brought his free hand up and pressed it over the scarf as he fingered you hard through your orgasm.

“There you go. Fuckin’ scream.”

You did, and you didn’t give a fuck who heard you. It had been so long since you’d been touched and he knew exactly what to do to you. He got you off hard and quick and it felt so fucking good that nothing else mattered. You loved it when he was rough and commanding; you loved it when he talked dirty to you. You would have had him any way he wanted to take you, but this was exactly what you needed. His hand was still covering your mouth and he was watching you with his fingers stilled inside you, waiting for the last of the aftershocks and deciding what to do with you next. You looked in his eyes – so blue with his cropped blonde hair – and you had to laugh a little. He had an angel’s face, but he was all devil that night.

“Something funny?” he asked, and he pulled the scarf down so it hung loose at your neck. You gulped down air and he pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to your lips. “Suck them clean,” he said, and you took them in your mouth, savoring the taste of what he could do to you and the feel of his thick digits against your tongue.

“Good girl,” he said, and he smirked as he pulled his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop. 

The second he got you inside your place he threw you up against the wall and held you there.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” he asked, but he knew. He’d known from the second he saw you that night. You nodded and he laughed.

“Well, I’ve got other plans for you,” he said. “You’ve been bad tonight. I told you you’d pay for it.”

He walked you over to the couch and sat down, looking up at you with mischief in his eyes.

“Lay the fuck down, ass up, and keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.”

You smiled down at him and moved to lay across his lap and he yanked you down on top of him, pushing your dress up over your ass.

“I’m gonna spank that fuckin’ smile off your face.”

His voice was rough and gravelly and it made you ache for his touch. He didn’t disappoint you. He ran his hands over your ass and made a little “Mmph” sound and you bit your lip.

“It’s a real shame,” he said. “By the time I’m done with you this luscious ass of yours is gonna be all kinds of fucked up.”

You tried to keep quiet but you couldn’t help but moan. You felt his hand come down hard on your bare skin and you squealed.

“I thought I told you to keep your fuckin’ mouth shut?”

He spanked you again, harder, and you buried your head in the couch cushion, trying desperately to keep quiet, although part of you wanted to make as much noise as you could and bask in the exquisite pain of whatever punishment he wanted to give you.

“Did you enjoy fucking with me tonight?” Smack. “I think you did.” Smack. Smack. “This is what happens when you play games with me.” Smack. Smack. Smack.

You were gripping the arm of the couch so hard your fingers were going numb. He just laughed and rubbed his palm in a light circle around your ass cheek. It was burning from his lashes and it hurt so good you wanted more.

“That all you got?” you asked. You knew you were in for it now.

He chuckled. “I’m just getting started.”

You lost track of how many times he hit you. He was alternating from one cheek to the other and grunting with the force of each blow. You were so wet, and you knew he could see it.

“You like that, don’t you?” Smack. “I can see how fucking wet you are.” Smack. “You fuckin’ cock-teasing bitch.” Smack. “I’m gonna show you what happens when you fuck with me.” Smack. Smack. Smack.

You couldn’t take it anymore, in the best possible way, and you cried out.

“I’m sorry!”

“You’re gonna be,” he said. “Stand up and turn around.”

You stood on wobbly legs and he stood behind you, grabbing your dress at the shoulders and yanking it straight down so it pooled at your feet. He grabbed your wrists and pulled them back behind you, crossing them and holding them tightly as he bound them with the scarf. You heard the familiar sound of his belt buckle coming undone and his pants dropped to the floor. He sat back down on the couch with a thud.

“Turn around and get on your knees.” 

You smiled and bit your lip before turning to face him. He had his legs spread wide and his cock in his hand, stroking it languidly, and you dropped to your knees between his legs.

“Suck it.”

You brought your mouth down and licked around the tip slowly, teasing him, and he grabbed you by the hair with his free hand, pulling your head back and slapping your cheek with his cock a few times.

“Open your goddamn mouth and suck my cock.”

He pulled you down by the hair and you took him deep, almost to your throat, before you started to bob your head. He brought his other hand into your hair and pulled and you moaned as you sucked him as hard as you could. He was guiding your head up and down with his hands – not too fast and not too deep. He was still playing his role but he knew what you could handle and what you couldn’t. You decided to surprise him and you opened your throat, taking the entire length of him and keeping him there until you started to gag. When he heard it he pulled you off of him by your hair and let you catch your breath.

“That’s a good girl,” he said, and he stroked your cheek with his thumb while you choked down as much air as you could. “I think it’s about time I get you on that bed.”

He stood up and shed the rest of his clothes before dragging you to the bedroom. He was holding the end of the scarf like a leash, guiding you toward where he wanted you. When he got you to the edge of the bed he spun you around and his hardened face broke into a grin as he leaned in and nipped at your bottom lip. He pressed his forehead to yours and spoke low.

“You want more?”

You looked into his eyes and nodded.

“Good,” he said, and he flipped you around and tossed you on the bed.

You were on your stomach, arms bound behind you, and you turned your head as far as you could, straining to get a look at him. You could only just see him out of the corner of your eye, staring down at your ass and licking his lips as he spread your legs.

“That ass is good and red,” he said. “Nice looking handprint, too.”

He got on his knees on the bed behind you, reaching under you with one arm and pulling you up onto your knees. He held you there as he teased your pussy with the tip of his cock, sliding it up and down and soaking it in your juices.

“You want it?”

You nodded, not knowing whether you could speak.

“Beg for it.”

“Give it to me, baby.”

“What?” he said. “This?” He slid just his head inside you and then took it out. “You wanna be a fuckin’ tease? That’s all you get.”

“More,” you pleaded. “Please.” He gave you another inch and left it there.

“Fuckin’ beg for it.”

“Fuck me, baby. I need it.”

“What do you need?” he asked, and he started to pull out again.

“I need your cock, baby. All of it. Give it to me.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he said, and then he snapped his hips and filled you up completely before he started to move.

“You like that?” he asked, increasing his pace. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Fuck, yes,” you cried. “Harder, baby.”

He kept one hand cradling your stomach and holding you up and brought the other to your wrists, yanking your arms back as far as they would go as he pounded into you.

“I’m gonna break you in half, bitch.”

With each vicious thrust you cried out YES and savored the feel of his hips crashing against your ass, still raw and burning from your spanking. Every bit of pain and pleasure was delectable and you never wanted it to end. You heard him hard at work behind you and you wished you could see his face, but you stopped caring when you felt him yank back harder on the scarf. Your arms were stretched to their limits and you suddenly felt both of his hands on your hips. You craned your head to see what he was doing and for the brief moment you could get him in view you saw him with the scarf between gritted teeth, pulling at your arms as hard as he could as he held you in position. You felt your orgasm start to bloom inside you and you cried out.

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna come.”

He stopped, letting the scarf fall from his mouth, and leaned over your back.

“You want to come?”

“Yes. Fuck. Don’t stop.”

He nipped at your shoulder and you felt him smile against your skin.

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’ve been so bad.” He jerked his hips hard once and you groaned.

“Baby, please. I need it.”

“Alright,” he said, “but only ‘cause I wanna feel that tight little pussy come all over my cock.”

He pulled back and started to fuck you again, hard and rough, and you felt yourself right on the edge but you just couldn’t get there. You needed something else.

“Pull my hair,” you said, and he did, yanking you upright and fucking up into you. He brought his free hand down and rubbed your clit and that did it. You came hard, arching your back and letting your head fall on his shoulder. You made animal sounds as your walls clenched around his cock and he moaned.

“There it is,” he said. “Come for me, baby.”

He held you tight to him until you’d finished and then he let go. You collapsed onto your stomach and he pulled out and untied you. He flipped you over on your back and all of a sudden he was back inside you, making love to you, slow and deep and lovely. He was kissing you everywhere his mouth could reach and you wrapped your legs and your arms as tightly around him as you could. He cradled your face in his hands and kissed you and you ran your hands up his back, gripping his shoulders. He pulled out of the kiss and looked at you and you saw it in his eyes before he said it.

“I fucking love you so much. I can’t stand it.”

“I love you, too, baby.”

He moaned as he rolled his hips and you knew he was close, and when he came deep inside you he looked in your eyes. You felt it happen. You didn’t know it at the time – you thought it was just that spark of love between you rekindling itself, but it was so much more than that. You thought it was the start of something that would bring you both back to the way things used to be, but it wasn’t; it was the beginning of something that would change everything. You fell asleep wrapped up in his strong arms, both of you blissfully unaware of what was happening. You’d know soon enough, but he wouldn’t.


	15. Chapter 15

You weren’t back together; you weren’t broken up. You didn’t know what you were exactly but both of you made an unspoken decision not to define it. He was busy shooting a new project, and you were working steadily, but you made time for each other – to nurture whatever it was that was growing between you. When he could he would spend the night with you, and it felt like it used to: dinners and movies and nights spent in bed making love and holding each other tightly until morning. You were happy again, and you couldn’t deny that it was because of him. You wanted to live in the moment, as he did. You didn’t know that would soon prove impossible.

Molly, of course, disapproved, but even she couldn’t deny that there was still love between you – that it had always been there, in one form or another, and that maybe it would prove to be enough after all. She wasn’t exactly happy for you; she had always been a pessimist and made no exceptions for your current situation, but she resigned herself to the fact that you were determined to make it work, that you couldn’t let go of him, that he loved you and you loved him and there was nothing she or anyone could do to keep you apart. She’d started to distance herself from you, though. It stung a bit but you understood. She’d been on this roller coaster with you for a long time and she just wanted off.

You ignored the early signs, chalking it up to your usual PMS symptoms, but when your period came and went without so much as a spot you knew – you were deep in denial, going about your business like nothing was happening, but in your heart you felt it. Maybe you had all along. You’d been lax with your pills in the months before your reunion with Jeremy – you’d forgotten a time or two, but since you weren’t seeing anyone you hadn’t given it much thought. It had slipped your mind completely, actually, or else you would have taken the proper precautions. You hadn’t though, and what was done was done. You didn’t say a word to him about it. You wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. You told yourself it was because it could be nothing, but really you were just terrified. Things were finally getting back to normal, you were happy again, and you feared his reaction. He was so completely focused on work, but more than that, it was the one thing you’d never talked about with him. You had no idea what he wanted but you suspected the worst – that he’d freak out and run away, leaving you scared and confused with no one to help you.

You decided that silence was the only option but he noticed the change in you. He knew you too well, and when you started feeling nauseous and tired he questioned you about it. He didn’t suspect anything – just thought you had a stomach bug you couldn’t shake and went out of his way to take care of you – and you let him think he was right. You waited longer than you should have but when the tenderness in your breasts started to become unbearable to the point where you would shrink away from his touch, you knew it was time. You skipped the home testing and went straight to your doctor. You didn’t trust those tests and you needed an unequivocal yes or no. That’s exactly what you got, and when you started shaking and crying your doctor asked the question you’d been asking yourself for weeks.

“I take it this wasn’t planned,” she said. Her voice sounded like it was coming from miles away. “Would you like to discuss your options?”

You looked up at her, teary-eyed, and said “No.” You’d always supported a woman’s right to choose, but to you there was only one option, terrifying as it was. You hadn’t known until then, but from the moment the doctor confirmed your suspicions you couldn’t fathom the idea of doing anything else but keeping the baby – your baby, yours and his.

When you left the doctor’s office you felt completely numb. You didn’t know how the hell you were going to tell him, and even worse, you didn’t know if he would feel as you did – that though it was unplanned and unexpected and terribly timed, deep down you wanted it. Underneath all the fear and the anxiety and the shock, you were happy – not because you’d made something that would bind you to him forever, but because you already loved it. Of course you hoped he’d be happy, as much as one could be given the situation, but even if the worst-case scenario played itself out and you were left on your own, you knew you could find the strength to keep going. All those feelings of doubt and uncertainty about your future were suddenly gone. You had a purpose now and it was strangely comforting, though it didn’t stop you from vomiting in the parking lot.

He was out of town for a week, shooting somewhere random, and even though you should have picked up the phone the second you got back from the doctor you waited. You told yourself it was because you wanted to tell him in person, to be able to read his face and see his reaction, but really you were just scared and stalling. When he got back he was still crazy busy, but you made plans for that Friday – the usual dinner at your place – but that wasn’t really your agenda for the evening. You were two months gone at that point and he needed to know. You’d waited far too long as it was. You talked to him on the phone Thursday night before you went to bed.

“I miss you,” he said. “These past two weeks have felt like a year.”

“I miss you, too,” you replied. “You have no idea how much.”

“You sound weird,” he said. “Is everything OK?”

“Everything is fine,” you lied. “I just need to see you.” That part couldn’t be truer.

The cramping woke you just before dawn. You didn’t have to look to know you were bleeding. It was moderate, but it was there, and you spent the next few hours sitting on the cold tiles in the bathroom, vacillating between denial and acceptance, just praying it would stop or at least lighten. It didn’t, and you called your doctor when the office opened. She told you to go to the hospital and the E.R. doctor confirmed that your nightmare was your truth. It was only just beginning but it was already over. It had been an impossible dream, anyway – just another something perfect that wasn’t built to last.

You decided not to tell him. You didn’t see the point. It would only hurt him and confuse him, but really you just didn’t want him to feel like he was bound to you by something that was growing more and more intangible by the moment. You wanted him to be with you because he wanted to be, not because he felt like he owed you something. You knew then you couldn’t stay – not with him, not in L.A; you needed to start fresh and forget everything, both good and bad. You couldn’t imagine any way to be with him without a constant reminder of what had happened. He would know something was wrong and you’d end up either living a lie or coming clean after too much time had passed. Either way, it could never be the same again. By the time he got to your place you were already deep in mourning for what you’d lost and what you were about to give up.

“This is a joke, right?”

He looked like you’d just punched him in the gut. You’d been crying since you heard his truck pull up.

“I’m sorry,” you said, sniffling. “I just have to go.”

“How long have you known you were going to leave?”

“A while,” you lied. He was angry now. You didn’t blame him.

“You can’t just up and fucking move to New York. No. Uh-uh. This isn’t happening. Something’s going on with you.”

“Nothing’s going on. I got a job.” The lies flowed from your lips like lava and burned just as much. “I found a place. It’s happening.”

“I don’t understand this at all,” he said. He sat on the couch and ran his hands up into his hair, gripping it so tight you thought he’d rip fistfuls out. “Everything was fine. We were fine. I don’t understand how you can leave now. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said. That much was true. “But I have to go.”

He was confused and sad and angry and there were moments when you thought you might break down and tell him the truth. But you didn’t, and he left shattered, too broken even to slam the door behind him like you knew he wanted to. In the years to come you would play that day over and over in your head, thinking through every possible permutation of what could have been said or done. There would be times when you thought you’d done the right thing and times when you were convinced it was the worst mistake you’d ever made, but the facts remained: you lied, you left him, and you ran away like he meant nothing to you.

It didn’t stop with him: you lied to Molly; you lied to your family. The only person in the world who knew the truth was your doctor, and you’d even lied to her about having a job lined up. You were lucky that one of your drama friends from school had a line on a few auditions for you and a couch you could crash on until you got your shit together. It took about a month and a half to get on your feet but you didn’t look back. You couldn’t, because any time you let thoughts of him creep in you’d end up drowning in whiskey or tears or both. You started seeing a shrink and she was good, but she wasn’t made of magic. You needed time to heal. You’d lost so much, you’d been unmade, and only time would put you back together. Even then, the finished product would be someone so much different from the person you used to be. It couldn’t be helped, though. Too many pieces of you had died along the way.

It would be years before you spoke to Jeremy again. You were married by then, to Peter the sometimes-painter, sometimes-sculptor, always-manic-depressive man you’d met about a year after moving to New York. You’d met at some bullshit gallery opening a friend of yours dragged you to. You’d spotted Peter from across the room – he was tall and dark and thin, and held a higher opinion of his own talent than his work actually called for. He was the polar opposite of Jeremy in every way, and maybe that was what attracted you to him. Whatever it was, you’d felt that spark and from then on you were inseparable. Whether you’d married him as a challenge or as a punishment you’d never be able to say, but your five-year marriage proved to be both. You had no children. You couldn’t have had them even if you wanted them, you’d come to learn, but it was OK. It was hard enough being an adult and living with Peter; it would have been criminal to bring a child into it.

It had taken a few years, but you’d made quite a name for yourself on and off Broadway. It was the one thing you could always look to when you found yourself wondering if leaving L.A. was the right decision. You enjoyed making films but there was nothing you loved more than the stage. Theater gave you a sense of accomplishment – an immediate gratification that you couldn’t get from film. On your worst days, and you had many, there was nothing quite like the curtain call and the roaring applause to set your mind right. For that moment, you were always happy. You would wait until after the show to think about whatever might be waiting for you at home.

Peter had good days and bad, like anyone, but his condition made the bad ones the stuff of nightmares. He’d been on his meds when you met, but he fell off a few months into your marriage. He’d always use his work as an excuse – that the pills sapped his artistic energy, that he couldn’t think much less create when he felt his mind was numb. You would argue and argue but you’d never win, and he’d go on manic tears where he’d churn out a new piece every few days – not eating, not sleeping, waking you up in the middle of the night talking a mile a minute about his newest creation. He’d get angry with you, say you weren’t supportive of him as an artist, and sometimes he’d leave – ostensibly to go to his studio, but you always wondered if he had a girl on the side. It should have bothered you but it didn’t. You cherished your time alone at home, unburdened by his demons. It was the only time, outside the theater, when you could truly relax.

When he would take the sharp downward turn into the depression you died a little each time. You’d see him as he truly was then – a decent man plagued with a terrible disease, frightened and vulnerable. He would always tell you that you didn’t understand, that you couldn’t understand, and in many respects that was true. You wanted to, though, so you could help him, but he’d never let you in. He would go back on his meds when he’d hit bottom and the cycle would start all over again – half a year on the wagon, the rest off. He’d self-medicate with booze and pills and weed, and although you knew it was bad for him you let him do it – partially because you knew he wouldn’t listen to you, but mostly because it worked a lot of the time. The booze and pills helped him sleep; the weed chilled him the fuck out when he was especially manic. When he was at peace, you were also, and that was the best you could hope for. You’d long since given up the dream of a happy marriage; all you wanted was a life without incident.

You’d been married for three years the first time he got violent. He never went so far as to strike you in any way or you would have walked out the door and never looked back, but one night when you got home from work you found the apartment destroyed. At first glance you’d thought it was a break-in and you almost called the police, but he came running at you, half-dressed and screaming about a lost paintbrush. He’d emptied every drawer, every cabinet. There were papers and clothes and random items strewn across every square inch of the apartment and he just kept screaming about the fucking brush. He needed it, he’d said, or else he could never paint again. It was his lucky paintbrush. He’d be lost without it and he’d die. You knew it was all nonsense, that his mind was playing its horrible tricks on him, but it didn’t help anything. You would have just gone to the bedroom and closed the door except he started throwing things in his frustration, breaking glasses and plates and vases – anything he could get his hands on. Something shattered on the wall behind you and you felt shards of glass in your hair. You didn’t remember anything after that until the police came. That was the first time, but they’d be back.

It was a few days after one of Peter’s nastier episodes – another marathon glass-breaking session that had left you with a small gash on your cheek – that you came out the stage door after a performance to find a familiar figure smoking a cigarette in the darkness. It was winter and he was bundled up in a wool coat and scarf, but you would have recognized him anywhere. He flicked his cigarette into the street and turned to you. He had a Playbill in his hands.

“Can I get your autograph, Miss?”

That voice. That smile. Those hands. Jeremy. You almost didn’t believe it and you didn’t know what to say. It had been almost six years since you left, and you hadn’t spoken to him since. You’d seen him, though, in his movies. You kept tabs on what he was up to artistically and you made it a point to seek out everything. He looked older yet somehow exactly the same. It made you smile ear-to-ear. You should have been flooded with guilt and shame and anxiety and fear, but really you were just happy.

“Are you real?” you asked. He laughed.

“Are you gonna sign this fuckin’ thing or not, big shot?”

“You saw the play?”

You couldn’t believe it – any of it. He looked at you like you were a complete moron and waved the Playbill in your face. You suddenly craved one of his hugs and you decided to take what you wanted. You took a few short steps and he met you halfway, and then you were in his arms again and it felt like home. He hugged your body tight to his and squeezed before pulling away.

“It’s really good to see you,” you said. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m shooting a series,” he replied. “I’ll be here through the winter. Figured I’d come see you. I’ve heard good things.”

“And?” you asked.

“As always, you exceeded all my expectations,” he said. “Now sign this fuckin’ thing. I’m serious.”

You laughed and took a pen from your bag. Without thinking you scrawled “Love Always” before your name. If he noticed, he didn’t mention it.

“So,” he said. “You wanna go get a drink or something? Catch up? It’s been, what, five years? Six?”

You were surprised at how nonchalant he was being. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought you’d parted amicably and not in a teary-eyed disastrous mess that kept you in therapy for years. You wanted to go with him, though. He’d never been far from your thoughts, especially in the dark times, and it had been so long. If he could be OK with everything, you had no right not to be.

“I’d love to,” you said.

“You gotta call home or…”

He trailed off and you knew he knew you were married. You had no idea how he knew but it didn’t matter. You weren’t trying to hide it. You weren’t wearing your ring at the moment but that was only because you’d just come from a performance. You probably should have called home but you didn’t. You were still angry with Peter even though you knew he was in a bad way. You couldn’t listen to his shit just then, or worse, risk setting him off. Jeremy was a sore spot with him. Depending on his mood, Peter would either refer to him as “the one that got away” or “that one you fucked up.” Both were true, but you’d never give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

“Nah, it’s still early,” you said. “Let’s just go.”

You ended up at an Irish pub downtown that was one of your favorite watering holes. It was populated mostly by old-school firemen and NYPD, and you’d always been able to go there and be left to your own devices, drinking whiskey alone in the corner and mulling over whatever happened to be plaguing your mind at the time. You generally preferred dark and dirty dive bars, but knowing Jeremy’s history you opted to go in a slightly different direction. Fancy lounges and clubs were never your thing, so that wasn’t even an option in your mind – too crowded, too much potential to run into somebody that one of you might know. You needed a quiet moment with him. You had some things you needed to get off your chest and you imagined he must as well.

You ordered whiskey; he got a beer. You sat at your usual corner table, across from each other, but you didn’t know where to begin. You started small.

“So, television, huh? That surprises me.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something about it appealed to me. Plus, I felt like I needed to do something different. Shooting in Jordan was… well… it was rough. Let’s put it that way.”

“Well, I saw it and it turned out amazing,” you said.

“Oh, so you’re the one,” he joked, taking a sip of his beer.

_The Hurt Locker_ hadn’t been widely released, but it had been screened in New York and L.A. so you got the chance to see it. You’d gone alone, in secret. You didn’t want to hear about it from Peter or worse, have him insist on joining you.

“I don’t know why the fuck it isn’t showing everywhere yet. It’s incredible. I’m talking Oscar-worthy incredible.” He raised an eyebrow at you and you waved him off. “I’m serious. I’m not just saying that.”

“Well, that’s nice to hear,” he said. “It took a lot out of me – _a lot_ – and not just physically.”

You could tell he had more to say but he just sat there. You didn’t know if he wanted you to ask but you did anyway. You had nothing to lose; you’d already lost it all.

“Do you want to talk about it or…”

“I do, actually,” he said. “It’s kind of why I wanted to come see you. I almost called you a bunch of times when I got back but… I don’t know… I didn’t know if you’d want to talk to me.”

“I would have,” you said. “I do.” It made you sad to think that he thought you didn’t want to hear from him. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth. “So, what happened?”

He told you about how arduous the shoot had been, how everyone lost their collective shit, and how it took a serious toll on his relationship with his girlfriend. You were happy he had someone, but it sounded like things were going south pretty quickly and you didn’t want to press him on it. You didn’t think it was your place, and you didn’t think he’d want to go into detail with you. Not yet, anyway.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I’m happy with how it turned out – we all are. It was just really fucking hard. It’s like you’re on an island out there – you’re sick, you’re miserable, and you have nothing to do. I spent a lot of time inside my head. I thought about you, probably more than I should have.”

“I’m really sorry,” you said. “For everything. Really, I could not have handled that worse and I still feel terrible.”

“Don’t,” he said. “That’s one of the things I thought about. I kept asking myself _why_ but then I realized that it doesn’t matter. I was upset for a long time, but I’m not anymore. There’s no point. Life’s too short for bullshit. That’s one thing I took away from it. I just wanted to tell you that – that there’s no hard feelings.”

You felt yourself on the verge of tears but you kept your composure. You’d wanted to hear those words from him for so long and you never thought you would.

“I’m happy you feel that way,” you said. “You have no idea how much.”

“Alright,” he said. “Enough about me. Your turn.”

You sighed. You didn’t even know where to start, or how much you wanted to tell him, or even if you wanted to tell him anything at all. You self-consciously touched the scab that had formed on your cheek and he noticed.

“Where’d that come from?” he asked.

“Long story,” you said.

He could tell you were upset. You saw it in his eyes as he searched your face. He was looking for something – some sign that you wanted him to ask for details. Part of you did and part of you didn’t. He decided to let it go and simply asked if you were happy. He could see in your face that you weren’t. You avoided the simple answer to the question.

“I’m loving New York. I love the theater. I think I was meant to be doing what I’m doing now. Not that I didn’t enjoy film, but this is better for me.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” he said. “I’m proud of you. I always have been.”

“Same to you,” you said, and you finished your drink. “I should probably go. It’s getting late and I have a matinee tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll let you go. But we should do this again sometime. If you want to, that is.”

“I do,” you said. “I really, really do.”

He hugged you goodbye and your whole body was tingling as you hailed yourself a cab home. You weren’t feeling conflicted exactly; you were still in shock that he was back in your life again. It made you happy that he hadn’t forgotten you, that he didn’t hate you for what you did, and it felt nice to have the guilt you’d carried for so long lifted from your shoulders. Some still remained though – your darkest secret, the one you could never tell him. It was a weight you knew you’d carry with you always. It was a punishment you thought you deserved.

Peter wasn’t home when you got there. You should have been worried or suspicious but you weren’t. It meant you wouldn’t have to explain yourself if he was in one of his especially paranoid moods, which he had been more and more lately. The holidays were rapidly approaching and it was a notoriously bad time of year for him. You dreaded Christmas, and you weren’t wrong to. You’d long since stopped spending the holidays with your family. The two times you’d brought Peter home had been disastrous and you were sick of your mother’s lectures and your father’s disparaging looks. Christmas was better spent in New York, alone at home with him where he could go off in the privacy of your own home.

That Christmas Eve was especially nasty, though. He would always drink more around the holidays and you knew it was because it reminded him of his own family. His parents were old-fashioned and they didn’t believe in medical conditions such as Peter’s. They were of the mindset that depression was a sign of weakness – a choice and not a malady. They’d long since abandoned him, and the holidays always reminded him of what he’d lost. You felt horrible for him but he made it difficult for you to be sympathetic when he’d get shitfaced drunk and carry on about every little thing. You could do no right at Christmas. Any gift was an extravagance; every meal was flawed in some way. You’d stopped taking offense to it. There was no point. The best you could do was try to keep it together and let it roll off your back, but it proved impossible that year.

You made it through dinner without incident – a Christmas miracle, you’d thought to yourself – but it was short-lived. When you brought out dessert – apple pie, homemade, your mother’s recipe – you saw the change start. He turned to look at you, his wine sloshing over the side of his glass, and you knew it was coming. You braced yourself for the tirade but you weren’t ready for what you had coming. He downed what hadn’t spilled from his glass and started to scream about how much he hated apple pie. You knew that wasn’t true but sometimes his tastes would randomly change and you never knew what would set him off. He accused you of making it on purpose, just to upset him. He’d claimed he’d specifically asked for red velvet cake; he hadn’t and you were just drunk enough yourself to snap back at him – always a mistake during one of his episodes. He responded by grabbing the pie and firing it in your direction. You were able to get out of the way fast enough to avoid getting hit, but you fell down in the process and your left wrist took the brunt of the impact. It hurt like hell and you knew, at the very least, it was fractured. That was the last straw for you. A fractured wrist would have serious implications for you at work – no stage makeup could cover a brace, and the nature of your costumes would make it impossible to cover up.

You left. You told him you were done, that you couldn’t take his shit anymore, that you had no sympathy left to give him if he refused to help himself. You checked into a hotel in Midtown, near the theater, and iced your wrist. You’d go to the E.R. in the morning. You had the urge to call Jeremy. You wanted so badly to tell him what had happened, what had been happening for so long. You didn’t, though. He was back home with his family for the holidays and deep down you didn’t actually want him to know. In your mind it was like admitting failure, like you were running away again when things got too tough. You didn’t want to remind him that that was the type of person you were – not after he’d forgiven you for everything.

Your assumption had been correct: your wrist was fractured in two places and you’d have to wear a brace for a while until it healed on its own. You asked the doctor about performing and he told you it was out of the question for at least a month, but that wouldn’t do for you. Your understudy took over for a week or so but then you went back to work, sans brace during performances. It was excruciating but you managed. When you weren’t on stage you wore the brace but you knew that ignoring the doctor’s orders was just going to make it take longer to heal. Peter had moved out of your apartment and into his studio after another few rounds of arguments, empty apologies and solemn pledges to get himself right again. You’d heard it all before and you didn’t believe a word – and even if he meant it this time, it was too late.

Jeremy called when he got back into town after New Year’s and you made plans to meet up for dinner. You went somewhere out of the way – your choice – and even though you were separated from Peter you felt it was somehow clandestine and wrong. You didn’t care though. You needed to see him. You needed to tell him, whether or not he would think the worst of you, but the more you’d thought about it, the more you started to think that he wouldn’t fault you for leaving. If he really still cared about you, as he claimed to, he would have to understand. You had a drink before dinner to loosen up and when you met up with him he greeted you with a smile from across the room. Then he saw the look on your face and the brace on your wrist and his face changed – his brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. When you got to the table he didn’t hold back.

“Ok, what the fuck is this now?” he asked, pointing to your wrist. “And don’t bullshit me. Something’s going on with you.”

You sighed deep and told him everything, start to finish. You managed to make it through your story without any tears, but when you finished and you saw the look on his face – so sad and troubled – you lost it. He got up from his seat and took you to the bathroom, locking the door behind him, and he just held you while you cried. He didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to. It was enough to feel his warm body wrapped around you and his hand stroking your hair. Someone knocked on the door after a while and he yelled at them to fuck off. It made you laugh. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed. He grabbed you some toilet paper and dried your eyes and you looked up at him with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just-”

“Stop,” he said, and he cupped your face and looked you deep in the eyes. “Just stop.”

You’d almost forgotten what his eyes looked like up close, how sometimes they could be blue and green and gold all at once and shine like they produced their own light. You wanted him to kiss you but you knew it was wrong. He had a girlfriend, and troubled as you knew his relationship was, you could never do that to anyone. He was looking at you in that way, though, and you knew he was struggling with the same feelings. He was better than that, though, and he resisted. It reminded you how good a man he was and it made you smile.

“We should go back to the table,” you said. “I’m still hungry.”

“If you want to go home, you know I’ll take you.”

“No,” you said. “I feel better now.”

And you did. He still had the power to turn your darkest moments bright again with just a touch and a few simple words. You finished dinner without having another breakdown, even though the subject of your impending divorce continued to be the main topic of conversation. He was kind to you, he listened, and every now and again he would throw out a piece of wisdom beyond his years and experience. You knew then you’d be OK. He was back in your life again and there was no doubt in your mind that he cared about you deeply, that he always had and he always would. It was enough for you. After so many years of struggling just to get by, it was enough.


	16. Chapter 16

By the time Jeremy’s career really started to blow up, the two of you were close again – really close, closer maybe than you’d ever been. You were older now and, you hoped, wiser, and it was easier to recognize the importance of true friendship. You’d been through a lot, both together and apart, and you’d each lived enough life and had enough distance from your past to be able to just be there for one another. The attraction was still there, and you knew it always would be, but you led separate lives now. He was ostensibly living in L.A., though he was filming all over the world and barely ever home, and your roots were solidly planted in New York. You didn’t see yourself leaving your life there, and his career wasn’t slowing down anytime soon, and you accepted that. You’d taken different paths, and you were just happy you could come together every now and again, be it by phone or Skype or in person on the rare occasion that your schedules allowed, and enjoy each other’s company.

 

You were both single. The thought of starting all over again after your marriage ended, of taking a risk on someone not knowing if it would end in disaster was more than you could take. You’d decided not long after your divorce was final that you’d never marry again. You weren’t opposed to a relationship, but you’d been through too much and you could never again make the kind of commitment marriage required – you hadn’t taken your vows lightly, and having to end things with Peter nearly broke you. You couldn’t go through that again; you wouldn’t. At the moment, you were more for what you liked to call “casual dating,” which was really just a euphemism for occasionally sport fucking the one or two men you deemed acceptable, no strings attached.

 

Jeremy didn’t talk about it much but you were sure he had his share of women here and there, but there was no one he considered special enough to settle down with – and she would have had to be really special. He told you he couldn’t be in a relationship with someone, that he had no time for it and he didn’t want to sacrifice his career. It made you sad sometimes, to think that he had to make that choice, but that was him – he was all or nothing, and he’d worked too hard for too many years to get to where he was. You thought it noble of him not to get involved with someone knowing she would always come second to his work, but you still held out hope that he would be able to find a happy medium someday in the not-too-distant future. He was a good man, the best man you’d ever known, and he deserved that happiness more than most.

 

He’d invited you to the New York premieres of both _The Avengers_ and _The Bourne Legacy_ but you couldn’t make either because of work. You missed him, though, and you hated that he was in your city and you couldn’t see him so you made plans to meet up late the night of the _Bourne_ premiere. He was at the beginning of an insanely scheduled press tour for the film and he had to catch an early flight to Tokyo but he wanted to see you as much as you wanted to see him so he went out of his way to make it work. It made you happy he was willing to do that. You knew how much he valued his down time and he was already exhausted. You’d long since moved out of the Upper West Side apartment you’d shared with Peter – too many awful memories, and you were a downtown girl at heart anyway – so you had Jeremy come over to your place in TriBeCa when he got done with the premiere and the after party. It was late but not too late, and he was drunk but not too drunk. More than anything, he just looked tired – handsome as ever, but you could tell he was already worn out and the press for _Bourne_ was only just beginning.

 

“When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” you asked as you poured him a drink, then one for yourself.

 

“I don’t know,” he replied. “What month is it?”

 

You laughed and handed him his glass. “I know you’re Mr. Superhuman Action Hero now, but if you keep up like this your body is going to shut down on you and then what good will you be to anybody?”

 

“You’re not wrong,” he said, and he took a deep swig. “Do you mind if I smoke in here?”

 

“I’ll make an exception for you,” you said, and you crossed the room to open the window. You’d quit a long time ago but you could see he was tense. “Try not to ash on my rug, will you?”

 

“I can barely see straight,” he said. “I’m not making any promises.”

 

You brought him an empty beer bottle to ash in and sat opposite him, sipping your scotch. You found yourself jealous of the cigarette for its proximity to his fingers and his lips. You tried to snap out of it but it was hard when he was right in front of you. You were friends now, but you had your moments every so often – moments when you wanted to jump him and tear his clothes off and fuck him within an inch of his life like you used to. You could tell sometimes he wanted the same thing, but there was something unspoken between you. The occasional lingering gaze, a dirty comment here and there, a hug that was a little too tight and a little too long with hands wandering places they shouldn’t – these things were all acceptable; anything else was dangerous and outside the boundaries of what you thought was right. There was too much history with no chance of a future and you both treasured what you were finally able to have far too much to risk ruining it. Still, though, his lips looked especially kissable that night. You spoke to break the tension maybe only you were feeling.

 

“So, where the hell do they have you going again?”

 

“Don’t get me started. I want to stick my foot so far up the ass of whoever made this schedule.”

 

“It’s good, though, right?” you said. “Lots of exposure, should make for good box office numbers.”

 

“I feel overexposed already,” he said, and you could tell there was a touch of bitterness behind it. You looked at him and he sighed. “I know I shouldn’t complain. I chose this, but sometimes… I don’t know… I’m just fucking tired.”

 

“When’s the light at the end of the tunnel?” you asked. “Can you take a vacation or something?”

 

“Honestly,” he said, “a vacation for me would be a nice chunk of uninterrupted time at home. It won’t be until the fall, though. It’s less than two months but it feels like a fucking year from now.”

 

“It’ll be worth it,” you said, and you hoped it would be.

 

“I know it will,” he replied, but something in his tone said that he wasn’t sure. He really did look a bit run down and he seemed especially brooding. It was a good look on him, yes, but you knew it wasn’t what was best for him in the long run.

 

“You’d tell me if something was wrong,” you said, “wouldn’t you?”

 

You were both long past the point of bullshit. It was much easier to be confrontational, however gently, than to dance around subjects if you suspected something was up. You knew each other too well, and with him over 40 and you not that far behind him, it just felt childish.

 

“It’s nothing,” he said. He wouldn’t look at you.

 

“Bullshit,” you said. “What’s the matter?”

 

He sighed and ran his hands across his thighs. “I feel like such a fucking whiner.”

 

“Jesus, will you just spit it out already?”

 

He looked at you for a long time before responding. He didn’t take his eyes off you when he spoke.

 

“I’m just lonely,” he said. “I know it sounds stupid and ungrateful, but it’s true.”

 

“It’s not stupid,” you said, “and it’s not ungrateful.” Your heart broke for him and you moved to the couch to sit beside him.

 

“It’s like, I’m constantly surrounded by people – every fucking minute of every day – but it just makes me feel more alone. Does that even make sense?” He finished his drink. “Nevermind. Just tell me to shut up.”

 

“No,” you said. “It makes perfect sense. I can’t even imagine what that must be like. But you’re not alone. You know that, right? You always have me.”

 

“Do I though?” he asked, and he turned to face you. He was so close you could smell the smoke and liquor on his breath and the scent of him – so familiar, so sorely missed – enveloped you.

 

“You know that you do,” you said, and it was what he needed.

 

He closed the gap between you slowly, like he was waiting for you to stop him, but you didn’t. You just closed your eyes and let him take your upper lip gently between his as he brought his hand to your waist. His touch was as soft as the kiss but there was intensity bubbling below the surface. He wouldn’t let himself go, though, and part of you was grateful for that. The kiss was over the line, and both of you knew it, but in that moment he needed it and you needed it and nothing else mattered. To go any farther would have been wrong, so you just let yourself melt into him. You took his bottom lip, so full and pink and perfect, between your teeth and give it a little nibble and he moaned. You missed that sound and the way it echoed throughout your body when his mouth was pressed to yours. He brought his free hand to your hair and held your face to his, not that you would have pulled away. You were lost in him now, in the best possible way.

 

You ran your hands up his chest and wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him take what he needed – just the kiss, slow and soft and mostly closed-mouthed but for the few times he’d touch his tongue to yours. You could tell he craved the intimacy, and even though it crossed the boundaries of your friendship, you gave it to him. He didn’t want anything more from you than to show him that he wasn’t alone, that he had you no matter what. There was desire and passion there, yes, but it wasn’t about sex; it was about love and feeling loved, which was something you both desperately needed. And you did love each other still, even after all these years, even knowing that it could never work between you. None of that mattered, and if for one second you’d thought it did, that kiss proved you wrong. When you finally pulled away from each other he cupped your face and pressed his forehead to yours.

 

“Fuck, I needed that.”

 

“So did I,” you said. “I see you haven’t lost your touch.”

 

He smiled and kissed your forehead.

 

“I should go,” he said. “My flight leaves in a few hours.”

 

“I’m glad you came by,” you said. “I missed you.”

 

“I missed you, too,” he said. “I’ll give you a call soon if I can get five fucking minutes’ peace.”

 

“I won’t hold my breath,” you said. You huffed out a laugh but his face was serious.

 

“I mean it,” he said. “I think I’m gonna need you.”

 

You smiled up at him as he put on his jacket. “I’m here,” you said. “Always.”

 

You got up and walked him out and he gave you a strong hug before heading back to his hotel. You had no idea when you’d see him again but it was OK. That was how things were now and you were fine with it. You were even fine with the kiss. There was a time when you would have freaked the fuck out, overanalyzed every millisecond of it, trying to decode it for some meaning, some answer. Not now, though. Now you were just happy because it felt good to kiss and be kissed, to give him the love he needed and have it given back. It wouldn’t change anything, but at that point in both of your lives, it wouldn’t hurt, either.

 

He ended up calling you a few times: once from Melbourne, once from Mexico, but it was the call from Vienna that really got to you. He’d sounded tired and strung out on the first two calls but you’d been able to cheer him up a bit, providing a few words of encouragement and most importantly, making him laugh. But the Vienna call was different. It was the last city on the tour and he’d been at it for more than a month; he’d attended premieres and press conferences and photo calls all around the globe. When you woke at 6am to your phone buzzing on the nightstand you knew it was him without looking. You’d told him he could call you at any hour and you’d meant it, but up until then he’d tried to time his calls so as not to wake you. You shot up. You knew something wasn’t right. You grabbed your phone and dispensed with the pleasantries.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“I can’t take it,” he said. He sounded like he was on the verge of a breakdown. “I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.”

 

“Did something happen?” His tone had you worried.

 

“No,” he said, “nothing happened. I’m just so tired I can’t even think straight. I don’t know what day it is. My body clock is completely fucked. I’ve been sick for a week. I just…”

 

“Hey,” you interrupted, “it’ll be OK. This is the last one. You’re going home tomorrow. Remember that. _Home_. That’s what you’ve wanted for months and you’re almost there. You can do it. I know you can.”

 

“Can you Skype?” he asked. He sounded so desperate. “I need to see your face.”

 

“Jeremy, it’s six in the goddamn morning here. You don’t want to see my face right now.”

 

That got a laugh out of him. “I know what you look like at 6am, mama. It’s much better than you think. Get the fuck on the computer.”

 

You sighed and agreed. You knew how much he hated Skype and that if he was asking, he must really need it. You grabbed your laptop off your desk and returned to bed, placing it on your lap. When the call connected and he popped up on your screen you could see it in his face – the exhaustion, the frustration, the desperate need for a moment’s peace. You were about to say something to calm him when his face broke into a wicked grin.

 

“What?” you asked. He just laughed.

 

“Nice tank top,” he said, and he wiggled his eyebrows.

 

Your eyes darted to your image in the box at the bottom of the screen and you realized your sleep shirt was so threadbare it was see-through. You cursed and went to grab a robe but he stopped you.

 

“Don’t,” he said. “I like the view. I feel better already.”

 

“You’re such a jackass,” you said, and he laughed again. His whole demeanor had changed from just moments before. “OK, fine, but you better be alone.”

 

“I am,” he said, “I’ve got an hour before I have to go do shit, although I don’t even remember what it is I’m supposed to be doing.”

 

“You should be sleeping, not staring at my tits.”

 

“I could not disagree more,” he said. He had that goddamn smirk plastered on his face and you couldn’t help but smile.

 

“When I said I’d be there for you, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

 

“You’re a good sport,” he said. “Lookin’ a little saggy, though.”

 

“WHAT?” you yelled. “Fuck you!”

 

“On second thought,” he said, “I think it’s just the shirt. You should probably take it off.”

 

You rolled your eyes and laughed. “Are you serious right now?”

 

“Come on,” he begged. “Please? I’m starting to feel sad again…” He gave you the puppy dog eyes and the pouty lips and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fight it. You tried, though.

 

“There are numbers you can call for this sort of thing, you know.”

 

“You know no one can get me off like you can,” he said. “Please. I need this.”

 

“Why don’t you just dip into your spank bank like a normal person?” you asked. “I’m sure you can come up with something that’ll do the trick.”

 

“I’m overdrawn,” he said. “I need to make a new deposit. Just show me your tits. That’s it.”

 

“That’s where it starts…”

 

“You got something better to do?” he asked, and you laughed because you didn’t and you knew it would be fun.

 

“Alright, fine. Pervert.”

 

You heard him laugh as you pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it away. When you looked at the screen you saw his lips puckered and his arm moving slightly. His hand was out of frame, but you knew what it was doing.

 

“So what was it you were saying about being saggy?” you asked.

 

“I take it back,” he said. “They’re nice and perky. Bounce a little for me.”

 

You rolled your eyes but you did what he asked and he groaned and brought his other hand down. You heard the clink of his belt buckle and the sound of the zipper coming down and you stopped him. He wasn’t going to have all the fun.

 

“Whatcha doin’ down there?” you asked, but you knew.

 

He looked at you and feigned innocence. “Nothing…”

 

“Why don’t you stand up and show me what nothing looks like?”

 

He got up and took his pants down and you had to stop yourself from gasping. You’d almost forgotten how impressive it was, and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

 

“That’s a whole lotta nothing,” you said and you heard him chuckle before he sat back down.

 

“What kind of panties you got on?” he asked. You saw his arm flexing slow and steady and you licked your lips.

 

“Black ones,” you said. “Lacy.”

 

“Please tell me it’s a thong.”

 

You bit your lip and nodded. You were getting into it now. “You wanna see?”

 

“You know I do.”

 

You moved the computer to a better position and got on your knees, stretched out like a cat so he got a nice view of your ass, and he made a little _Mmph_ sound. You couldn’t see him from that position but you could hear a squirt and the slippery sound of his hand lubing up his cock. 

 

“Take ‘em off,” he said, but you sat back down, your bottom half out of frame. He groaned and you just smiled.

 

“You don’t get to have all the fun,” you said. “I’m not getting naked unless you do.”

 

“Sounds fair,” he said, and he whipped off his shirt.

 

He looked good – _really_ good. All the training and stunt work he’d been doing for his films was obvious in the swell of his muscles and his tight abdomen – muscular but not chiseled. You liked that. It made him seem real and not like some photoshopped pretty boy on a magazine cover.

 

“Lookin’ good, stud.”

 

“Stop stalling and take off your fucking panties. I’m dying over here.”

 

You laughed. “Alright,” you said, and you adjusted so he could watch you peel them off, slowly and deliberately, the way you knew he liked.

 

“Oh, Jesus,” he said. “That’s new.”

 

You realized he’d never seen you fully waxed. Your friend had convinced you to try it, and while it felt strange at first, you ended up liking it. You only did it during the summer months, though, and your most recent appointment had been your last for the season. Good timing, apparently, since he seemed to be enjoying it.

 

“Spread your legs,” he said. “Lemme see.”

 

You did and you saw him moan and start to pick up the pace of his strokes.

 

“Goddamn I just want to lick my computer screen right now.”

 

“Go for it,” you said. “It’s your spank bank deposit. Make it count.”

 

You could see him lean forward and you knew he was doing it, and you closed your eyes and pictured him dragging the tip of his tongue across the screen. The thought of it, the memory of what his tongue felt like against your flesh, made your cunt throb and ache to be touched. You could feel yourself getting hot and slick and you were dying to reach down and touch yourself. He leaned back and you looked down your body at him with a naughty smile on your face.

 

“Fuck, is that just my screen or are you really that wet?”

 

“I’m soaking,” you said, and he moaned and started to jerk harder.

 

“I want to taste you so bad right now,” he said, his breathing growing ragged. “Play with that pretty pink pussy. Tell me how you taste.”

 

“You know how I taste,” you said, moving your hand down and running your forefinger up and down your slick lips before dipping one inside and bringing it to your mouth. You moaned as you sucked your own juices from your finger and smiled at him. “Just like peaches and cream.”

 

“Oh God,” he said. He was getting there but you knew he needed more. “Make yourself come for me. I want to watch you.”

 

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

 

“Get your fingers in there,” he said, “deep. Pretend they’re mine.”

 

You slid two fingers inside yourself, as far as you could, but yours were no match for his. You brought your other hand to your clit and started to rub it in slow circles. You heard him call out “faster” and you did as he commanded.

 

“Tell me how it feels,” he said.

 

“Not good enough,” you replied. “Your fingers are so fucking thick and long.”

 

“I would finger-fuck you so hard right now. I’d suck that hard little clit and make you scream.”

 

You pushed another finger inside and started pumping while you worked your clit, watching him as he ran his free hand over his torso while the other was hard at work on his cock. Looking at him, listening to his breathy moans and the look of concentration on his face while he watched you fuck yourself brought you close. You threw your head back onto your pillow and started to moan, bucking your hips a bit to get your fingers deeper.

 

“That’s it,” he said. “Come for me.”

 

“I’m so fucking close.”

 

“I can’t see that gorgeous face of yours,” he said. “Look at me. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

 

You craned your neck up far as you could and met his eyes. He was licking his lips, pumping furiously, and you knew he was almost there. You wanted to watch it happen and you knew you needed to be quick.

 

“I’m thinking about your big, fat cock all soaked in me, fucking me so deep. OH GOD.”

 

You felt yourself start to come and closed your eyes but he barked “Look at me” and you did – hard as it was not to arch your back and close your eyes and cry out at the ceiling, you kept your eyes locked on his as you felt your walls start to clamp down around your fingers. You let out a series of moans, each louder and longer than the last, and he egged you on, telling you to come hard like you would on his cock, begging you to say his name over and over until you were done. You did just that, and through the sounds of your own pleasure you heard him tell you how sexy you looked when you were coming and how hard it made him even thinking about it. When you were finished you rolled onto your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows in front of the screen.

 

“Your turn,” you said. “Move your chair back. Let me see you.”

 

He did and you got your first good look at him pumping away, his cock damn near as veiny as the hand and arm working it. You licked your lips at the sight of it and made that _Mmmm_ sound you knew he liked.

 

“Oh fuck, I’m about to blow. I wanna come all over those sweet tits of yours.”

 

“These?” you asked, moving your chest into frame and toying with your nipples. “Do it then.”

 

You saw something flash in his eyes and before you knew it he was up, standing in front of the camera and jerking hard. You heard him panting and cursing and then he came with a strangled grunt, blowing his load in a seemingly endless series of thick spurts that told you it had been a while. You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched him trying to catch his breath and clean up the mess he’d made. After a minute he gave up and plopped back down in the chair with a hearty chuckle.

 

“That was a better idea in theory,” he said. “I think I may have just destroyed this thing.”

 

You laughed harder than you had in a long time and when you caught your breath you asked, “Was it worth it?”

 

“Totally,” he said and he gave you a wink and a smile.

 

And just like that it was back to normal. Whether from the physical distance of the act or just that it was all in good fun, you didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t weird; it wasn’t awkward. It was just business as usual. He said he’d call you when he got home and you wished him good luck with the end of the tour, and that was that. You shut your laptop and put it on the floor before crawling back under the covers and going back to sleep, completely satisfied and with no remorse.

 

You talked on the phone when he got back to L.A. and he seemed happy. At the very least he’d caught up on his sleep and was feeling healthy and human again. He thanked you for being there for him during the rough patches and you told him you were happy to do it. Neither of you mentioned the Skype session but it went unsaid that neither of you regretted it. A few weeks later he told you he was in talks to host _Saturday Night Live_ and you flipped your shit, and when he confirmed he was doing it you were over the moon. He seemed a bit nervous, as anyone would be hosting _SNL_ for the first time, but you assured him he would be great, and you’d be there to see it. It was only when he told you his mom and sister were flying in for it that you got nervous. Despite everything you’d been through and how far you’d come, you still got major anxiety when it came to meeting his family – ten fucking years, and you still felt ill just thinking about it. You tried to play it cool but he picked up on it.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” he said. “I swear. Do you really think I would want you to meet them if they hated you? You are so fucking stupid sometimes.”

 

“You promise that your mother doesn’t secretly hate me? Because I think your mother secretly hates me.”

 

“I’m gonna reach through this phone and strangle you, you idiot. No. She doesn’t secretly hate you. She _wants_ to meet you. They both do. You have to trust me on this one.”

 

“Fine,” you said. “But I’m still going to be a ball of nerves.”

 

“When the fuck did you turn into a neurotic New Yorker?” he asked, and you laughed.

 

“I think I was always a neurotic New Yorker, I just didn’t know it until I moved to New York.”

 

“Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll see you the week before Thanksgiving. Try to pull your shit together because you’re meeting them whether you like it or not.”

 

You told him you’d do your best and hung up, but you were nervous. You wanted to ask him how much they knew but you didn’t want to dredge up the past so you decided to put your trust in his words and his actions. You knew he would never force you into an uncomfortable situation on purpose so you tried your best to put it out of your mind, telling yourself it would be fine, that you had just been exaggerating it in your fucked-up head for so many years that you were paralyzed by the thought of it. It was happening, though, and there was no getting out of it. You decided to look at it as a challenge – an exercise in facing one of your fears, which was not something you’d ever been particularly good at. He thought it was your biggest fear, and you let him think he was right, but close as you were to him now, you still kept your darkest secret. Telling him why you’d really left L.A. was the thing you feared most, the one thing you knew you’d never be able to do, and you felt like you owed it to him to face your other fear head on. You knew it would make him happy, and happiness was the thing you wanted most for him, so you were determined to suck it up and do it. You made a couple appointments with your shrink, though, just because.

 

Even though he was in New York for the week, you didn’t get a chance to see him before the live show on Saturday. His schedule leading up to the show was predictably full and hectic, but you talked once on the phone and he told you he was going to be singing in his monologue. You were so excited you could barely stand it, but you could tell he was nervous about it. You told him that he’d be great, and how much you were looking forward to hearing it. You loved his voice, always had since the first time you heard him sing in his truck so many years ago, and you couldn’t think of anything that would make you happier than to see that again. Plus, you’d told him, he didn’t get much chance to showcase that talent. It was the perfect thing to do for the monologue. He seemed calmer by the time you hung up, but you weren’t. You’d been looking forward to the show for a while, but now that you knew you’d get to hear him sing the wait seemed almost unbearable.

 

You had a performance Saturday night and couldn’t make the dress rehearsal but you had enough time to make it over to 30 Rock before the live show started. You knew he’d be running around backstage and you wouldn’t get to see him until after so you just made your way to your seat up front, filled with nervous excitement. It hadn’t even occurred to you that you might be sitting with his family but it should have. When you got there you saw two faces that were familiar to you – albeit only from photos – and you had a moment of utter panic, but when they got up and greeted you with big smiles and hugs you felt immediately at ease. They had that friendly way about them and you couldn’t help but smile at his mom – she was beautiful and kind and had eyes with that familiar sparkle and warmth you’d come to know and love. You immediately felt stupid for the years wasted worrying and agonizing over this moment. You didn’t have much time to chat because the show was about to start, but you’d been able to share in the sense of pride and happiness you all felt for how far he’d come and how hard he worked. You could see how much they loved him – his mom especially. She was beaming, and you had a brief pang of sadness that you’d never know that kind of joy – a mother’s love for her child, all grown up and accomplished. You let yourself mourn for a moment and she asked you what was wrong. You lied and said that the night’s performance took a lot out of you, and she looked at you in that way Jeremy did when he was searching you for answers. You were thankful she didn’t know you well enough to see right through you; he certainly would have.

 

The show was about to start and all eyes were on the stage. You knew he was backstage, poised to make his entrance, and you couldn’t help but picture him doing a deep lunge or two to calm his nerves. You suppressed a giggle, and when he came out he was all amped up and adorable as ever. He looked good – really good – and even though he was playful, he still had that swagger about him. You were cheering along with the crowd and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. You knew you must have looked ridiculous with a stupid smile plastered on your face but there was no way to suppress it, and things only got worse when he moved towards the piano.

 

“Once again,” he said, “I cannot believe I agreed to do this.”

 

He shook his head a bit and chuckled before taking a seat at the piano and you had to stop yourself from screaming. He was so charming and adorable, but sexy as fuck at the same time, and his voice was everything you remembered and more. There was a bit of sound trouble and he played it off well, getting a few laughs out of the audience while the crew scrambled to fix the problem, but he was clearly nervous. While the more critical viewer might have slighted him for it, to you it just made him that much more endearing, and when he started to play and sing you wanted to bounce up and down in your seat. It was the second one, though – a play off a Kings of Leon song – that really got to you. You fought the urge to close your eyes and tilt your head back, just letting the sound of his voice envelop you like you had the first time he’d sang for you, but you forced yourself to watch him like everyone else. He’d found his groove, and his voice was soulful and perfect, and you could have gone home happy right then. Your cheeks already burned from smiling and your hands stung from clapping and you knew you’d lose your voice by the end of the night but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was him, in that moment, because that was when you fell in love with him all over again.

 

You were excited for the digital short. Jeremy had told you they’d been running around town shooting it and that he thought you’d like it but he wouldn’t give up any details, which had been fine with you since you wanted to be surprised. About a minute or so in, you started to wish he had told you more about it. His character had a daughter, and while everyone else was laughing their ass off at him picking her up from dance class and reading her _Goodnight Moon_ while in the middle of a stand off, you felt a dull ache in the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t shake. You tried to fake it but you knew your face was betraying you. You were just happy you made it through without starting to cry. Seeing him like that, so tender and sweet with the little girl, made you so sad – sad for what you’d lost, sad for what you would never have. The worst, though, was that you wanted so desperately for him to have a family of his own, but knew you could never be the one to give it to him. You managed to pull it together by the end of the short, and it was a good thing, too, because he saw you when he came out into the audience to announce Maroon 5. He smiled at the three of you sitting there and you did your best to look joyful, but inside your whole body was screaming for you to bolt out of the studio – to run away, like you always did. You had no choice but to stay, though, and as the show wore on, you were completely distracted by the thought that hit you with the force of so many years of denial and guilt: you had to tell him the truth. Not that night, but soon.

 

You’d left the studio right after the show was wrapped, making some excuse to his mom and sister about having forgotten something back at the theater and telling them you’d meet them all at the after party. You hadn’t seen Jeremy yet and you needed a fucking cocktail like you needed air and you snuck off to a bar a few blocks from where the party was being held. You needed a quiet moment alone with a stiff drink to process what you’d just experienced and try to push it to the back of your mind so you could just enjoy the night. In your current state, you’d be no fun at all, and it would not go unnoticed. You managed to work through your issues as well as you could over the course of two martinis and steeled yourself up to join the party. You bought a pack of cigarettes on the way, smoking one to the filter – a little slip after years of abstaining, but a much-needed one. When you got there the party was in full swing, and it was one for the books. It was Lorne Michaels’s birthday party on top of everything else and everyone was going especially nuts. You saw Jeremy across the room, talking and laughing with a few cast members and you didn’t want to interrupt so you looked around for his mom and sister. You were happy to see them at the bar, with what looked from a distance like whiskey in his mom’s hand. You remembered he’d told you she could party with the best of them and you were thankful for it because you weren’t nearly done drinking and you didn’t want to come off like a complete lush.

 

You made your way over to the bar and Jeremy’s mom handed you a drink.

 

“We were waiting for you,” she said, and you thanked her, and the three of you toasted to Jeremy and all his successes – past, present, and future.

 

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you that we went to see your show this week. It was wonderful. You’re really quite talented. It’s no wonder my son is so fond of you.”

 

That was a surprise and you didn’t quite know what to say so you just smiled and thanked them for coming. You were thankful that Jeremy had made his way over to the bar.

 

“My women,” he said, and he gave you all a group hug.

 

He was tipsy and all jacked up on post-show adrenaline and he was bouncing around like a little kid. You couldn’t help but smile as you stood and watched his mom and his sister alternately gushing over him and giving him shit. You kept silent, letting them have their moment, but he called you out on it.

 

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said. “Was I that terrible?”

 

“Oh shut up,” you said. “You were amazing. I loved it. The monologue was perfect.”

 

“Perfect isn’t exactly the word I would use to describe that, but thanks.”

 

His mom and sister went off to the corner, talking amongst themselves. You let yourself wonder briefly if they were talking about you but you didn’t dwell on it. Jeremy leaned in close to you and you wished he hadn’t. You knew they were watching you.

 

“So, how do you feel about dancing with me?”

 

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I’m kind of tired.”

 

“Well I’m wired and I’m not taking no for an answer. Pound that drink and let’s fucking go.”

 

You laughed and took your whiskey down. You knew you weren’t going to get out of it, and despite yourself you couldn’t help but notice how good he looked. He was in a great mood on top of it, and even though you had a lot on your mind he somehow made you forget it all. He had an infectious enthusiasm about him that night, like he used to, and it gave you the burst of energy you needed. You squeezed your way through the throngs of revelers towards the dance floor and when the crowd opened up you felt it – his hand on your back, pushing you gently around to face him. He should have let go but he left it there and you got chills. He had a look in his eye that told you everything you needed to know about what was on his mind and you were conflicted until he started to move with you. He always was a good dancer, and it reminded you of how well his body could move under other circumstances. He pulled you in close to him.

 

“You still tired?” he asked, and you smiled. “Didn’t think so.”

 

He spun you around and pulled you back into him and the heat of his body and the smell of him made your mind start to wander to places you knew it shouldn’t go. The little looks he was giving you weren’t helping you fight your internal battle, and by the time the song was over you knew how the night was going to end. You grinned like an idiot; your face wouldn’t take no for an answer.

 

“I want another drink,” you said, and you started towards the bar. You knew without asking he would follow you. What you didn’t know was that he would pull you into a nearby hallway once you had your drink in hand.

 

“What are you doing?” you asked, but you knew.

 

“I don’t know. I just have all this leftover energy,” he replied. “I don’t really know what to do with it, but I can think of a few things I’d like to do.”

 

You looked around you but nobody was there.

 

“Your mom and sister are here, you perv. Shouldn’t you be spending quality family time with them right now?”

 

“I’m going home for Thanksgiving tomorrow,” he said. “I’d like to spend some quality time with you.” He leaned in and brushed your ear with his lips. “I haven’t stopped thinking about fucking you since Vienna. Let me come home with you tonight.”

 

You didn’t miss a beat; you didn’t even have to think about the answer.

 

“OK.”

 

You tried your best to avoid each other for the rest of the time you were at the party for fear of ending up fucking in the bathroom or the supply closet or basically anywhere that afforded even the slightest bit of privacy. It was all that you could think about, though, and when he’d catch your eye from across the room you could tell he was having the same thoughts you were. You left about a half-hour before he did, for appearance’s sake, and when you said goodbye to his mom and his sister and wished them a Happy Thanksgiving they both gave you big hugs and kisses. Whatever they may have witnessed between you and Jeremy that night, it obviously didn’t bother them, not that it mattered – the only thing that mattered was currently biding his time at the party, waiting for an appropriate moment to slip away, feigning exhaustion so he could take a cab straight to your front door. You had just enough time to take a quick shower, which you sorely needed since you hadn’t gotten a chance after that night’s performance. You were debating what to wear when the buzzer rang and you had no choice but to grab the nearest thing – the dress you’d worn to the party – and throw it back on. You skipped the panties, knowing they’d be on the floor soon anyway.

 

You buzzed him up and when you opened the door he grabbed you and pushed you inside, kissing you deep, his hands roaming down your back to your ass. He gave it a little squeeze and you moaned, but he pulled away, a confused look on his face.

 

“Why the fuck do you have a Baby Grand in your living room?”

 

“Oh, right,” you said. “That.”

 

“Yeah, that. You don’t even play the piano, and that thing costs a fortune.”

 

“I inherited it,” you said. “My aunt left it to me. Apparently I’m ‘an artsy type.’”

 

He looked at you and you could tell he felt bad for bringing it up, but you silenced him before he could apologize.

 

“Don’t worry,” you said. “We weren’t close. If we were she would have known that I have no fucking clue how to play the piano.”

 

An idea popped into your head and you were powerless to resist it. You pulled him close to you, fiddling with his collar.

 

“I know someone who’s an excellent piano player, though.”

 

He laughed. “No way,” he said. “I’ve had just about enough for one night.”

 

“Come on,” you begged. “Please?” You gave him your own set of puppy eyes and pouty lips. “Play something for me. I’ll do anything.”

 

“Anything?” he asked, and you nodded. “Well, in that case, how can I say no?”

 

You clapped your hands and dragged him over to the piano but he wouldn’t sit. Instead he grabbed you at the waist and hoisted you up on top of the piano.

 

“You said you’d do anything,” he said. “Lie down.”

 

You smiled and lounged back, rolling onto your side and facing him with your legs crossed and one hand propping up your head.

 

“You look sexy as hell up there. I don’t know how I’m gonna get through this.”

 

“Just try,” you said. “You know I love it when you sing.”

 

“OK,” he said, and he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Hmmm. What to play for a gorgeous woman lying across my piano?”

 

“It’s my piano,” you said, and he smiled.

 

“Semantics, woman. Now shut your mouth and let me think.”

 

You giggled and watched him as he furrowed his brow and shrugged up his shoulders, poring over his repertoire, trying to think of a song for you. You had no idea what he was going to play, but you knew it would be perfect. He looked up at you and smiled.

 

“Got it,” he said, and he cracked his knuckles and started to play.

 

On the piano it was slower and more delicate than the original, but the unmistakable melody of The Cure’s “Lovesong” started to echo throughout your apartment. You already had goose bumps just listening to the instrumental but when he started to sing to you, you felt your whole body tingle and flush.

 

_Whenever I’m alone with you_

_you make me feel like I am home again_

_Whenever I’m alone with you_

_you make me feel like I am whole again_

 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. He was mostly quite serious, taking great pains to get it right, but every so often he would look up at you with a sparkle in his eyes and a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. You knew then you’d never stop loving him, no matter what. It was pointless to try, and you didn’t want to, and with the song he’d chosen and the heart and soul he was putting into it, you knew he felt the same way. It brought a single tear to your eye and you let it fall. You couldn’t have moved to wipe it away if you’d wanted to.

 

_However far away I will always love you_

_However long I stay I will always love you_

_Whatever words I say I will always love you_

_I will always love you_

 

When he finished he looked up at you and smiled, looking almost shy, and you reached out and traced the line of his jaw with your finger.

 

“That was beautiful,” you said.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he replied, and he took your hand and kissed it. “Come here.”

 

He stood up and swung you around, the sound of dissonant notes ringing out in the room as the back of your calves hit the keys. He pushed your dress up and wedged himself in between your legs, cupping your face as he kissed you. Your lips and tongues danced together in harmony, a stark contrast to the discordant sounds in the room. You could only just hear him whisper “I will always love you” over the sound of the piano beneath you before he pushed you onto your back.

 

He kissed up your inner thigh as he pushed your dress up farther. You were already naked from the waist and he didn’t bother with commentary; he just went straight for your center, almost rabid in his need to taste you, and you squirmed beneath his tight grip as he laved at you and moaned his pleasure onto your aching flesh. When he started to suckle your clit you reached down and grabbed fistfuls of his hair. It wasn’t going to take much more to set you off; it had been so long since you’d been touched by a man, and even longer since you’d been done right. Two long, slow pumps of those knobby fingers you’d missed so much and a well-timed flick of the tongue and you were there, your thighs clamped firmly around his head as you came with a long, strangled cry. It was a sound you barely recognized as your own it had been so long, but as you came down from your high you smiled down at him, still lingering between your legs, looking up at you and planting soft kisses everywhere his mouth could reach. Only he could get a sound like that out of you, and he knew it.

 

“Take me to bed,” you said, near breathless, and he pulled you down towards him and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you gently down to the floor with his eyes trained on you the whole time.

 

You left a trail of clothes in your wake and by the time he had you on the bed you were naked and he was close to it but for a pair of snug black boxer briefs growing tighter by the second. The need for a condom went unspoken and you didn’t dwell on it, snagging one from your nightstand and ripping into it with your teeth as you palmed his erection through the cotton. He moaned at your touch and took his briefs down, letting them drop to the floor as you rolled the condom down his length. He laid you back gently, crouching over you and nudging your legs apart with his knee as he bent forward and kissed that spot on your neck reserved for his lips alone. He kissed his way to your ear and gave it a little nibble before he spoke with a husky whisper.

 

“I’ve been waiting so long for this.”

 

You didn’t know how long he’d been waiting – if he meant hours or days or months or years – but it didn’t matter. The words and the sound stole your breath and you could do nothing but watch him as he sat up and got into position. You were drenched and aching for him but still unprepared for the feeling as he pushed slowly into you – he was just barely past the tip and you were already clutching his arms and moaning. He could feel how tight you were, how long you’d gone unused, and he was gentle – taking you inch by inch, letting you stretch to take him deeper. When you were ready you wrapped your legs around him and pulled him into you, dragging a deep moan from him that made your cunt throb and your nipples so hard they could cut glass. You were a tangled mess of limbs and lips as you moved together in perfect unison, and with each down stroke he would fill you and it felt like home. No words were spoken; there were only the sounds of your bodies crashing against each other and the ragged breathing that spoke of a need long unfulfilled.

 

He kissed you deep before he took a tight hold on you, rolling over onto his back and guiding you up gently until you were seated in his lap. He ran his big hands up your stomach to your breasts and kept them there, palms and fingertips working magic while you rode him – slowly at first but then harder, taking what you needed and what he wanted to give to you. You watched him as he watched you; the look on his face was something like awe as he stared, his mouth agape, his pink lips begging to be kissed. You bent over him, taking his upper lip between yours and he traced your bottom lip with his tongue before ghosting it with his teeth. That did it, and you buried your hands in his hair and pulled, crying out his name and God’s name and every variant in between as he brought his hands to your hips to steady you. He gave it everything he had from below and you came in slow and steady waves, each more powerful than the next. It felt endless, and he fucked you through it, and by the time you were almost done he was coming too and the sound of your name on his lips sent a fresh shiver through your already quivering frame.

 

You could have lain there forever, wrapped up in him, kissing him, loving him with your words and your eyes and your body, but you had to let him go after a time. You stretched out, cat-like, while he was in the bathroom, savoring that good ache in muscles you forgot you even had. When he came back he crawled wordlessly into bed behind you, throwing a leg and an arm over you and kissing up your back and neck before resting his chin on your shoulder. His phone alarm was set to go off in two hours, his flight set to take off in four, but he stayed with you; he shouldn’t have, but he did. He wanted to and you wanted him to and you were both so far past the point of trying to define what was right and what was wrong that you just did what felt good. You were more than half asleep when he left but when you finally got out of bed you remembered the soft kiss he’d planted on your lips, the open invitation he gave to you, and those three words you could never get enough of. You couldn’t remember whether you’d said it back, but it didn’t matter because you didn’t have to. He knew. You hoped that maybe he’d always known.

 

Your show wrapped just before the holidays and you had a much-needed chunk of time before the next one started up. You were exhausted, you hadn’t taken a vacation in over a year, and it felt nice to just relax and be yourself instead of having to crawl inside someone else’s head six days a week. Good timing, too, since Molly’s wedding – a sure sign to you that the Mayan apocalypse was, in fact, nigh – was taking place in Seattle the two weeks before Christmas. You’d told Jeremy you’d pop down to L.A. after the wedding for a short visit, and happy as you were to be seeing him again, you knew the real reason for it: you had to come clean to him; it was long past time, in fact, and it was weighing on you more heavily than it ever had before. You’d already made the decision, but the time and place had been wrong. You were all out of excuses; the only one left was your own cowardice, and you refused to let it rule you any longer. You didn’t know what you had with him at the moment, nor did you care to define it, but you knew one thing: whatever it was, it needed to be based on honesty and trust. You didn’t know how he would take it, but you knew you couldn’t look him in the eye anymore without laying it all out there, for better or worse.

 

You flew down to L.A. from Seattle the day after the wedding. You felt sick the whole flight, not just because you were slightly hungover from the reception turned all-night rager, but because you had no idea how you were going to tell him what you needed to tell him. After all these years, how were you just going to drop that kind of bomb into casual conversation? You’d been over and over it in your mind and you still had no answers. Even pulling up to the gate of his house, you still hadn’t the slightest clue. He buzzed you in and he was waiting by the door for you when your car pulled up, a smile lighting up his face. You knew it wouldn’t be there for long.

 

“Rough night?” he asked, taking your bag from the trunk.

 

“Molly always did know how to throw down,” you replied. “I need some hair of the dog, I think. Tell me you have something.”

 

“I got you, mama,” he said, and you made your way inside.

 

The house was absolutely stunning, and you would have expected nothing less. He’d told you this one would be his forever home, and although you didn’t necessarily believe it, you couldn’t deny it was perfect. You would have loved a full tour, but for the moment you needed to plant your ass on the bar stool and take down whatever concoction he was making you.

 

“I don’t even want to know what it is,” you said, “as long as it works.”

 

He handed you some alien mixture and you took it down without hesitation. It didn’t taste half bad, actually, and chased with a beer, you were starting to feel a bit better. Your headache was gone, at least. The feeling in the pit of your stomach wasn’t going anywhere until you made it through your confession, and maybe not even then.

 

“So you want a tour or what?”

 

“Absolutely,” you said, and you did because the house was huge and gorgeous and you needed to kill some time.

 

You were nowhere near ready to tell him your secret and you still held out a glimmer of hope that maybe some opportunity would magically present itself – some comment, some question – and the time would be right. It didn’t happen, of course, because there was no right time to say what you needed to say, so you ended up on his sprawling back patio, overlooking the impeccably landscaped grounds and the pool, with a cooler of beer and a pack of cigarettes between you. It was a somewhat familiar setting to you, and that brought you a small measure of comfort, but you were still nervous and he noticed.

 

“You’re smoking again. You look tense as fuck. Something’s up with you,” he said. “Don’t even try to bullshit me.”

 

“You’re not wrong.”

 

You didn’t know where to go from there so you just took a deep drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke skyward, praying he’d keep asking questions – that maybe he’d ask the right question.

 

“I’m waiting…”

 

He just sat there, staring at you with an eyebrow raised. You studied the lines of his face: the brow creases that had deepened over the years, the crinkles around his eyes and his smile lines. He looked like some sort of exquisitely carved sculpture to you – one you were about to smash to pieces.

 

“Ask me why I left L.A.,” you said. Your tone was solid but your insides were screaming.

 

“I know why you left L.A.”

 

“No,” you said. “You don’t. Just ask me.”

 

He looked at you strangely. It was a look that, in all the years you’d known him, you’d never seen before. “Why did you leave?”

 

You took a deep swig of your beer – too deep, and you felt the carbonation bubbling up into the back of your nose. You swallowed and coughed and lit another cigarette, taking a long, drawn out drag before you began. He watched you the whole time, that strange new look plastered on his face. You pinpointed it finally. It was distrust.

 

“I was pregnant,” you said. “And then… I wasn’t.”

 

You couldn’t look at him, not yet.

 

“I didn’t know for sure until you were away and I didn’t want to tell you on the phone and by the time you got back I… it was just… it was gone. I should have told you. I don’t even know anymore why I lied to you. My therapist said I was in shock, that I was creating a new reality for myself when I said I had everything set up in New York. It doesn’t make it right, but it’s what happened. I’m so sorry.”

 

You finally looked at him. “You will never know how sorry I am.”

 

You didn’t tell him you’d given him a name – because in your mind it was always a boy, a tiny version of him – or that when things were really bad with Peter you’d close your eyes and think of what your life could have been: the two of you happy together, as a family, at the beach or the park or the swing set in the backyard of the house you’d never share. It was how you’d mourned your loss, not just of the baby but him as well. You’d never told anyone that; those things were for you alone. Besides, you’d told him quite enough already. You saw it all over his face: he was poring through decade-old memories for the little signs he should have picked up on but didn’t – the “stomach bug” you couldn’t shake, the way you would wince when he touched your breasts, every glass of wine you’d turned down, every cigarette. Then suddenly his face was a fortress and you had no idea what was behind it. He looked at you for a long time but you dared not speak. It wasn’t your place. It was his turn to feel what he needed to feel, and whatever it was he had earned it. It could have been a minute or an hour; time stopped and there was nothing but a heavy silence. When his hardened face finally broke you saw his eyes glaze over – they were empty, staring at nothing. You saw his brow furrow and his lips part and start to tremble; he squeezed his eyes closed, but the tears fell anyway.

 

You didn’t know what your role was, whether you should comfort him or keep your distance, so you just waited, watching the veins in his neck strain as the anguish racked his body. You could tell he was trying to keep as quiet as he could but it was pointless, and the sounds coming out of him were so heart-rending you broke down. You felt like you didn’t deserve to cry with him but you did anyway, and he looked over at you, his face like a lost child. You closed your eyes; you couldn’t look at him. You spoke at the ground – “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” – in an endless loop until you felt his weight next to you on the lounge chair. He wrapped his arms around you so tight and put his chin on the crown of your head.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and sorrowful. “How could you not tell me?”

 

“I wasn’t thinking straight,” you replied. “I thought that if I told you, you’d feel like you owed me something, like you had to stay with me even if you didn’t want to. So I lied and I ran away. I wanted to call you so many times but after a while the lie was just so big I couldn’t think of how to fix it. I’m so sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, and you looked up at him, curious as to what he could possibly have to be sorry for. “I’m sorry that you spent ten fucking years blaming yourself for something that wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry that I gave up too easy. I’m sorry that I didn’t fight for you. I knew something wasn’t right when you left and I let you go anyway.”

 

“But-”

 

“Let me finish. I loved you, I would have done anything for you. It fucking kills me to think of you going through that alone.” He pulled back and looked deep in your eyes. The look on his face – pure pain – made you cry even harder. “Did you think I wouldn’t have wanted it?”

 

“Would you have?” you asked. You needed to know.

 

He whispered “Yes” and you buried your face in his chest and cried harder.

 

You were clinging to his shirt and it was damp and stained with his tears and your tears and you looked up at him.

 

“I didn’t know,” you said. “I didn’t know what you wanted. I didn’t even know that I wanted it until it happened. But I did. I did so badly. And then…”

 

“Shh,” he said, and he held you close to him, just rocking you slowly and stroking your hair. It was almost full dark out by the time he spoke again.

 

“Do you remember that time you called me, when I was being a selfish prick and avoiding you, and you left me a message and you didn’t know what you said?”

 

“Yeah,” you said. You couldn’t forget that day if you tried. “Why?”

 

“I’m going to tell you what you said to me.”

 

“Oh God,” you said. “Please don’t.”

 

“No,” he said. “It’s important, especially now. I can still hear it in my head. I remember every word.”

 

“OK,” you said, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

 

“You were crying, obviously drunk but it didn’t matter. I knew you meant every word you said. You told me how much you missed me, how much you loved me, that you dreamed about me every night. And you told me about one of the dreams you had.” He paused for a moment and you could tell he was getting choked up again but he continued. “We were at the beach together, married, and we had a little boy, and he was building a sandcastle and we were watching him. You said he had my eyes and my smile. That was it – just that – but it’s why I’ve never stopped loving you. Because even though I left you and I was horrible to you, you never stopped loving me. You didn’t give up on me. You still dreamed about me and us and having a future together when I gave you no reason to. I still think about that.”

 

“It was just a dream,” you said.

 

“No,” he said. “It’s so much more than that. Because I never knew I wanted that but I do. I always have. And it’s always been you.”

 

“Well it can’t happen,” you said. You hadn’t planned on telling him; you didn’t think it was relevant. “There was a reason I lost the baby. I can’t…” You couldn’t finish but he understood.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, but you knew he didn’t mean it. Maybe he thought he did but you could see it in his eyes. “We could still…”

 

“No,” you said. “We can’t. I can’t. Not again.”

 

“But if you did…”

 

“I won’t.”

 

You wouldn’t let him entertain the idea for a second. You couldn’t let him bind himself to you knowing you could never give him what he needed. He could deny it all he pleased but the evidence was there – on the tear-soaked sleeve of his shirt, in the puffy red rims of his eyes. He wasn’t giving up on you, though, and you loved him for it.

 

“I’ll wait forever for you,” he said, and you smiled up at him despite the fact that his words, meant to comfort you, made you sadder than all the rest combined.

 

You would have loved nothing more than to be with him, inseparable and more deeply in love than you ever were before, but you knew you weren’t the one for him – not in the long run anyway. You couldn’t bear the thought that one day he would wake up with you next to him and realize he’d made a mistake choosing you. You couldn’t be his mistake. You loved him too much and you knew it would kill you. You let him dream, though, because it was what he needed. You’d said what you needed to say – you were honest, you’d spilled every last secret you had to tell – and he’d done the same. You weren’t on the same page when it came to your future but somehow it didn’t matter. You’d wrapped up your past and the future was unknowable. All you had was the present, and as he made tender love to you that night, each of you comforting the other with your bodies and your hearts and your words, the present felt pretty fucking good. You fell asleep in his warm, loving arms, his breath like a balmy breeze, slow and steady at your back.

 

You had to leave in the morning. Your flight home was at noon. He made you breakfast and coffee and sat with you while you ate, and you talked for a while about nothing at all. He made you laugh, like he always did, and when the car arrived to take you to the airport he took you in his arms and kissed you softly, with all the love he had, and you gave as good as you got. Mistakes had been made and different paths chosen, but that didn’t change the fact that for him it was always you, and for you it was always him. When you left you felt like you were floating. A weight had been lifted, one you’d carried for so long you’d forgotten what it felt like to live without it. In your heart you knew that one day he’d find someone – a woman who could give him everything you could, and the one thing you couldn’t – and you were mostly OK with that. For now you would live in the moment, as he did, not overanalyzing, not over-thinking. You’d learned that was pointless and that it hurt more than it helped. It was best just to keep things simple.


End file.
